


Hearts of Kyber and Beskar (and the Cracks Within)

by Fives



Series: Hearts and Their Cracks (and Those who Mend Them) [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Obi-Wan has A Happy Childhood, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Blame it on the Discord, Canon is a dart board and I have been blindfolded, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I can totally believe it, I can't believe I have to use that tag, I can't believe there's a tag for that, I lied, Jango Fett is a Little Shit, Jaster is a Dad, Jedi Culture & Tradition (Star Wars), Light crack, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Mando/Jedi Wars, Multi, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan and Quinlan have a Dyad Bond, Oh God this is gonna end up super long, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Planet Melida | Daan (Star Wars), Sassy Obi-Wan Kenobi, Slow Burn, So far away from canon, and just picked what I wanted anyways, but here we are, enemies-to-grudging-friends-to-one-sided-pining-to-shoulder-to-cry-on, even-the-ruling-council-of-mandalore-and-the-jedi-high-council-just-want-them-to-kiss-to-lovers, he uses sass as a defense mechanism, i have spoken, spun three times, that was a long tag, the senate is in SO MUCH SHIT, to-two-sided-pining-to-the-point-where-everyone-knows-but-them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fives/pseuds/Fives
Summary: Everyone in the galaxy knows that Jedi and Mandalorians mix about as well as water and oil. After the Massacre of Galidraan, the discovery (and execution) of the Sith lords hiding in plain sight, the Senate is in turmoil. They can't let the word 'Sith' be heard in public for fear of riots and uprisings, but they still need a scapegoat. Enter one Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan, and caught in the middle of whatever storm is brewing.
Relationships: Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Eventual Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi - Relationship, Eventual Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Feemor & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Original Character(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Xanatos, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Hearts and Their Cracks (and Those who Mend Them) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120112
Comments: 775
Kudos: 1280





	1. At Buruk - Once More Into The Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan gets a cold welcome a long way from home...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of what is shaping up to be a MONSTER fic. I'm not sure when I'll be able to update, but I'll do my best! OYA!!

Obi-Wan was numb with shock. This was not helped by the frigid cold of space leaking through the wall of the transport shuttle, leeching away any lingering warmth and freezing his back. There was a pack laying on his knees containing his few belongings that he took with him from the Temple. His life reduced to a spare set of robes, the river stone Master Qui-Gon had given him, a comm with his friends’ frequencies already saved, and his lightsaber hanging from his belt. 

The padawan had been in uneasy meditation for the past three days, diving deep into the force-bonds connecting him to other Jedi. With every light-year travelled, his training bond with Master Qui-Gon strained as it was pulled thinner and thinner. His web of creche bonds was stronger, but Obi-Wan knew that when he arrived at his destination, the distance would still be too much and they would only be able to send impressions back and forth. No words, no messages: just feelings. The only bond he had that was not being pulled at like Corellian taffy was his dyad bond with Quinlan. If Madame Nu’s records were correct (and Force help him, they had better be) they could be at opposite ends of the Galaxy, and their bond would still be strong as ever. His bonds pulsed gently at the back of his mind, worry, comfort, and affection soothing him - and his friends were right to worry. Here he was, all of sixteen years old and alone, a new Senior Padawan on a transport bound for Mandalore.

Mandalore, a planet full of people who have no reason to trust the Jedi, and who certainly did not like any of his people. After all, it was only three years ago that Mand’alor Jaster Mereel began a legal campaign against the Republic and the Jedi following the complete debacle that was Galidraan. A year into the investigation, the mind-healers working with Master Dooku found the Sith Bond wreaking havoc on his mind and shields. They, along with the Master of Shadows, followed the bond to its source before destroying it, and lo and behold! The team found both Darths Sidious and Plagueis on the other end of the bond. Once they knew what to look for, it didn’t take long to find the evidence to unmask them as Senator Sheev Palpatine of Naboo and Hego Damask of the Intergalactic Banking Clan. Both were tried for treason and sentenced to death. They were executed under the watchful eyes of the Jedi Council and the Security Council - which should have been the end of it.

But the Mandalorians were not satisfied, and the Senate needed a scapegoat to appease them. After all, if word got out to the general public of the survival of the Sith - who were previously nothing more than the worst of ancient, extinct monsters lurking in the closet - there would be riots in the streets. It would be a cold day on Mustafar before the Senate owned up to its mistakes (or self-caused diplomatic debacles) and so that particular blame inevitably fell on the Jedi Order. 

At that thought, memories of the visions that plagued his sleep came rushing to the forefront of his mind causing Obi-Wan to shudder and his stomach to turn. It felt like the Force swooped in to enhance the blurry images: an attack on the Temple, his home being razed to the ground and the death of his people. The identity of the attackers was still hidden from him, they were just blurs of motion, tearing through the Temple in his visions. Sometimes he glimpsed the shape of armour. Sometimes he saw homemade weaponry. Knowing how Mandalorians and the Coruscanti populace both felt about the Jedi, neither possibility reassured him. 

The visions had eased somewhat when a Senator had put forward a motion for the “cultural integration and reconciliation” of a Jedi to act as a bridge between the two cultures. At the time, he could barely help his relief and joy - especially once the Mandalorians agreed, with the stipulation that the Jedi could be no older than 20. Then the Senate, no doubt looking to soothe their ruffled feathers, chose someone from Dooku’s lineage. Obi-Wan had been infinitely less glad to be the only Jedi to fit the oh-so-specific description.

The transport jolted out of hyperspace, knocking him out of his uneasy meditation. The jolt signified the last of the planned jumps - he had arrived, possibly to his doom. As the ship broke atmosphere and went through its landing procedure, he looked out of the viewport. There were Mandalorians in  _ full  _ armour  _ surrounding _ the landing pad, three rows thick. Obi-Wan gulped, took a deep breath, and then released his fear into the Force. It would do him no good here. Steeling himself, he gathered his belongings and stood before walking slowly over to the door of the transport. He nodded to the flight droid and palmed the hatch open.

Immediately, he felt the Mandalorians’ eyes centre in on him and stare through their dark visors. In the Force, he could sense a tidal wave of hate rise and roll over him. As if next to him, Quinlan spoke through the dyad bond to give him the courage to leave the craft.

“I’m right here with you, Obi. Just one step in front of the other, you can do this.” For once, Quinlan’s voice had none of his usual levity, but his presence was an empathetic shield to the pure aggression rolling off the helmeted warriors around him. He raised his head and walked forwards, one foot at a time until he stood before the Mand’alor. He bowed exactly the way the etiquette instructors at the temple had drilled into him, holding it and keeping his eyes down. Above him, he heard a seal disengaging and saw the Mand’alor remove his helmet. He flinched at the six gold tally marks scattered across the helmet, knowing  _ exactly  _ what those tally marks meant and fearing becoming number seven.

“Look up Jetii.” The order pierced the silence of the landing platform like a knife. Obi-Wan could do nothing but obey, straightening out of his bow and doing his best to appear as non-threatening as possible. At first glance, Jaster Mereel was a tough man who had been through a tough life. Across his visible skin were dozens of minute scars caused by blasters, lightsaber, and Force only knew what else. His black hair was cropped close to his skull, uncomplicated and out of the way so a helmet would easily fit, and was greying slightly at the temples - likely from stress or his face was deceptively youthful. His dark eyes, wary and cautious, did not overlook a single detail as he stared at Obi-Wan, looking him over from top to the bottom. 

As he looked over Obi-Wan, the silence stretching longer and  _ longer _ , his brow deepened what was already an intimidating scowl further, pulling on the fading scars across the tan skin of his face. In the Force, the Mand’alor was a mountain of beskar, unbreakable and completely blank - unfortunately for Obi-Wan’s stress levels, his face divulged even less of his thoughts. 

After an eternity, Mereel relaxed slightly and sighed, resigned and unhappy. “For the duration of your stay, you are the ward of House Mereel. You will stay in the Mand’alor’yaim and you will attend classes at the Keldabe Academy for Clan Heirs. You may contact any friends you have once every five-day, though any and all of your calls will be monitored. Do not try any Jetii mind tricks on any Mando’ade or other sentient here. There will be no second chances, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mand’alor.” Obi-wan tightened his grip on his small pack. Force, only three days of travel and he already missed the Temple with its welcoming atmosphere and friendly beings.

Mereel turned on his heel and walked down the path to where a four-seat speeder awaited. Obi-Wan trailed behind him and flinched when the Mandalorians closed ranks around the two of them. Their footfalls, hundreds of metal boots striking hard stone at once, were as loud as explosions in his ears and threatened to bring unpleasant memories crashing into his perception of the  _ here-and-now _ . Obi-Wan grimaced and tightened his shields again, hooking his shaking hands around the straps of his pack to hide his nerves (and to keep them in sight of the more nervous warriors). Getting lost in his memories within the first hour would help no one, least of all him. Following the directions of a harsh gesture, he shuffled into the back seat with his eyes firmly trained on his boots. Mereel followed him and gave a sharp order to the driver in Mando’a. He heard the dull roar of jetpacks igniting - guess that answered how everyone else would travel. The “honour” guard followed them through the winding streets of Keldabe, all the way to the palace at the center of the city. When the shuttle rounded a bend and slowed, Obi-Wan looked from his boots to peek further ahead. A teenager was waiting for them at the landing pad with his arms crossed, scowling in his general direction. Obi-Wan assumed this was the Mand’alor’s son - the armour appeared to match the blurry holos they had. Mereel jumped out of the shuttle before it even touched the ground and strode to the boy - young man, really on closer look - and pressed their foreheads together. When Obi-Wan caught up, they were speaking rapid Mando’a in low angry tones, clearly in some sort of argument. It broke off as soon as he got within a meter of the pair.

“Jetii, this is my son, Mand’al’ad Jango Fett. He will give you a tour of the Mand’alor’yaim and then show you to your room.” Jaster motioned for the teen - Jango - to come forwards. Jango looked at Obi-Wan with barely disguised disgust, his eyes sweeping up and down.

“This way, Jetii.” He said, all warmth gone from his voice with a careless gesture of his hand. Obi-Wan nodded, shouldering his small pack.

Jango led him at a brisk pace through the palace doors, nodding to the guards as he passed. “This is the entrance hall. The dining hall is on the floor below us and the Main Hall is through those doors.” His reluctance to give a tour to a potential enemy was clear: he bit out each word like they tasted foul, his Force signature rolling with dislike and he made sure to only point out the most basic of things. Jango pointed to a large set of ornate doors across the atrium. “That’s where Buir does most of his business, so stay out if there’s a council meeting in session. Actually...just stay out.” He led them to the stairway on the right of the ornate doors and began to climb the steps to the second floor. “Remember to take the stairs on the right, or you’ll end up in the West Wing which is where the guard barracks, armoury, and training grounds are.” He paused before reluctantly issuing a warning “Don’t go there unless you’re looking to get yourself killed. These stairs, lead to the East Wing, which is where your room is.” Obi-Wan hurried to keep up with the Mand’al’ad as he led the way up the flights of stairs until Jango turned to a hallway on the third floor. “This is the wing that houses the Mand’alor and his family. Your room is the one there,” he gestured at the fourth door on the right, “and mine is right across the hall if you need anything.” The look on Jango’s face made it clear that any help given would be done extremely begrudgingly and that he  _ better not _ need anything. Obi-Wan nodded politely and palmed open the door.

Just as he crossed the threshold, Jango called out to him, “Oh, and one more thing.” He pointed at Obi-Wan’s belt, then opened his hand palm up. “Your jetii’kad. You’re not allowed weapons outside of training until we know we can trust you, so hand it over.”

Obi-Wan drew in a shaky breath. He had to hand over his lightsaber? One of his only possessions, the blade he had built with the crystal attuned in the Force to him and him alone? The only constant he had throughout his apprenticeship, which had seen him through the debacle that was Melidaan? His mounting horror must have alerted Quin through the bond because his projection was suddenly next to Obi-Wan. Dimly, Obi-Wan registered his brother’s outrage leaking into the Force as he unclipped his ‘saber from his belt with shaking hands and laid it carefully in Jango’s.

“Obes, no!” Quin’s blue arm reached forward as if he could somehow stop Jango from taking Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. As usual, his projection could not affect the physical world, and his arm passed right through Jango’s. The Mand’al’ad shivered, frowned, and narrowed his eyes at Obi-Wan.

“That better not have been Force osik, you hear me?”

"I didn’t do anything! I wouldn’t!” He raised his hands in surrender, or maybe to ward off a blow, he wasn’t sure which. Jango sneered at him, then stormed into his rooms, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan's straight-up not having a good time rn.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> At Buruk = lit. to danger, fig. Into the breach, brace yourself  
> Mand'Alor = Sole ruler of Mandalore  
> Jetii = Jedi  
> Mand'al'ad = Prince/Princess I could have used Ad Be Mand'Alor (child of the sole ruler) but I found it really long for a language that gets to the point as fast as Mando'a does. So I'm using Mand'Al'Ad as Prince for Jango, and Ad Be Mand'Alor will be like "His Royal Highness"  
> Jetii'kad = lightsaber, specifically that of a Jedi


	2. Aru’ela Yaim - Enemy Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan finds his footing and falls back into some measure of comfort while Jango ponders his new hall-mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, this ran away from me fast. To the ENABLERS on the JangObi discord, you know who you are and this is ENTIRELY your fault. Thank you.

The rooms he had been assigned were neat, orderly, and utterly devoid of personality. The bed, sheets, desk, and shelves were white, with the walls being only a few shades darker. With a sigh, he stepped inside the unwelcoming space, the door closing behind him with a pneumatic hiss a moment later. He crossed the room in a few long strides and fell onto the bed. Quin’s quiet fury bubbled beneath his skin, the foreign the not-mine-but-almost-mine feeling building and feeding into his own - when feeling something strongly, their emotions tended to intertwine to the point it was hard to tell who was feeling what. Realizing he was initiating a feedback loop, the kiffar took a deep breath and released his emotions into the force.

“They can’t just do that, Obes!” Quinlan paced to and fro, his Force projection hovering a few centimetres above the ground. “They can’t just take your-”

“My weapon? The one that was used to slaughter their people and caused this whole mess? Believe me, while my lightsaber is my life, picking a fight to keep it might also  _ cost  _ me my life. After all, who’s going to tell them that? Is Master Yoda going to call the Mand’alor to explain that,” he pitched his voice lower to sound like the tiny green master, “a lightsaber, a Jedi’s life, it is, hmm? Return an incredibly powerful weapon, you should. Give it back to your enemy, you should. No problems, there will be, hmm?” Obi-Wan buried his head in his hands and groaned.

“But you should at least get to keep the crystal?” Obi-Wan looked up at the light note of hysterics in Quin’s tone. Their separation was obviously starting to wear on his brother. The yellow stripe over Quin’s nose was scrunched up in a newly-permanent scowl and some of his dreadlocks were unravelling. It was jarring to see, but Obi-Wan could only accept it as another thing that had changed over this hellish ten-day. He raised a tired hand to his face and smother a bitter laugh with it.

“So I can build a second one in secret? They don’t know how they’re made and it’s one of the few things I’m not allowed to tell them! By agreement - the Mand’alor doesn’t want another darksaber running around. Come on, Quin, they don’t trust me!” He raised a finger to stop the argument about to come out of Quin’s mouth “And they have a damn good reason not to! We,” he hushed his voice “slaughtered them, not just at Galidraan, but nearly every time Jedi and Mandalorians have interacted since the Excision!”

“I just-” Quin released a breath. “I just don’t want you to lose another piece of home.” Instead of speaking, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sunk into their Dyad-Bond, relishing in the warmth, acceptance, and love. He let himself be cradled by Quinlan’s force presence and the echo of the Temple and the feeling of belonging.

Across the hall, Jango was fuming. The Jet’ika was decidedly underwhelming, after all of the horrifying accounts of Galidraan he had heard. Ba’vodu Aden’tra said that the Jetiise at Galidraan had a deadly grace about them, a sense that you were looking at a predator and that you’d better not be prey. 

_ Maybe _ , Jango mused,  _ this Jet’ika was playing the long con. Maybe he hadn’t learned how to use the kad’au now in Jango’s hand. _ His finger curled around the metal hilt, searching for the switch. Jango thumbed the blade to life, startled at the humming under his hand. The beam of light buzzed like a caged rancor in the air before him. If he had to give it a label, he’d call the buzzing angry, but that was ridiculous.

“A weapon’s just a weapon. It’s the person wielding it who matters.” He found comfort in repeating his Ba’vodu’s words as he examined the blade. The kad’au shone a clear, deep blue like the sky over Keldabe just before sunset. Jango tried a few of his beskad sequences, but the kad’au moved wrong through the air and felt unbalanced in his hand. The longer he held it, the more the angry humming continued. He kept at it until he had to clench his jaw from the way the sound rattled inside his brain before he extinguished the blade. Jango considered the hilt for a long moment. He took in the scuff marks and scratches in the metal with a frown. “What have you been through, I wonder?” He snorted. “I bet your Jet’ika has dropped you one hundred and one times and that’s what gave you those marks. There’s no way he’s seen real combat yet.” The idea of the redhead dropping his weapon often enough to dent what felt like a hard metal (durasteel perhaps? Maybe tungsten...) made Jango crack a small smile as he clipped the kad’au onto his belt.

With his curiosity appeased, he turned his mind to the strange feeling that had come over him in the hallway, the cold on his arm as he took the Jetii’s outstretched weapon.  **That** had been some Ka’ra-damned Force osik - he was sure of it. That the Jet’ika said he had nothing to do with the sensation only proved that he was a liar. Jango shook his head to clear his mind of thoughts about the Jetii on the other side of the hallway and picked up the holonovel he had been reading before the summons came. He fell backwards onto his bed then propped his head on his hand and let himself fall back in time to the age of Mand’alor the First.

The buzzing of his comm dragged him back to the land of the present just as the sun’s rays were dipping below Jango’s window. He stood and stretched, working out lingering stiffness and relishing the pops from his joints. He flicked the screen to ‘accept call’ and yawned as his Buir’s face came into view.

“Jan’ika, dinner’s in thirty minutes. Make sure the Jet’ika’s on time, would you?” Jas’buir dragged a hand down his face, still gaunt from the rationing of the last war. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because the hut’uune in the Senate shoved a Jetii out here and you refused to take a full-grown one?” Jango’s lips pulled upwards into a smirk as he teased his buir. He froze when a thought occurred to him and carefully asked, “How fancy do I have to get and how fancy does he have to get?” Jas’buir chuckled at his antics.

“No buy’ce, but otherwise full plate, cape, and cord for you. For him...” he sighed, something all the more common these days, “Whatever he has, I guess. See you in thirty.”

“See you in thirty Buir” The holocall clicked off with a small chime and Jango buried his face in his hands with a drawn-out groan. “Why me?” he asked of the universe at large, wallowing in self-pity for a moment. Sighing, Jango then crossed the hallway and knocked on the door opposite his. No answer. He knocked again. Still nothing. He knocked a third time and yelled, “Hey, Jetii! Dinner in thirty! If you’re not there, we’re sending a search party!”

Finally, the door swished open to reveal the redhead: disgruntled and somewhat dishevelled.  _ So, it seemed he could be bothered by worldly affairs, _ thought Jango. This teenager standing in front of him seemed a completely different person from the one who landed on Manda’yaim not three hours ago. When he first saw the Jet’ika, Jango had thought him to be much like a tooka, but now he was having to reassess that idea. The figure before him was more of a nexu, separated from its pack and waiting for the moment to strike. “What’s the dress code?” The smaller boy snarled, apparently ignoring any courtesies in favour of cutting to the point. Internally, Jango raised an eyebrow at the tone of the question. Prickly nexu, indeed.

“Wear the fanciest stuff you have. It’s a state dinner, so you’ll be introduced to the Ruling Council as well as a few of your classmates. I’ll see you out here in no less than twenty minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, Jango turned and strode back to his rooms.

_ Well, _ Obi-Wan thought, _ half an hour was not the warning he would have liked, but he’d made do with less. _ Jango’s first set of knocks had brought him jolting out of his joint meditation with Quin (to the grumblings of his brother) and his second set of knocks had gotten him moving towards the door, working blood back into his sleeping legs. The yell just annoyed him, so he hoped Jango was on as short notice as he was. With Jango gone again, he rummaged through his pack for his clean set of robes and his dress tabards. Obi-Wan spread them on the bed (not his, not yet) and made sure all the stitching was intact on the seam of his tabards. He took his hygiene kit and shuffled over to the refresher attached to the room.

After a short, efficient sonic, Obi-Wan pulled on his clean leggings, followed by his inner robes and then lastly his outer robes. He then spent a minute or two making sure he had arranged the folds correctly in front of the mirror in the refresher. Sure they were sitting right, he put on his tabards, pulling the cloth so that his right tabard hung off his shoulder, then did the same for the left. He pulled his obi to him quickly with the Force, tying it into the same habitual knot he had used since he was old enough to tie it. Lastly, over the simple obi went his belt, wrapping around his waist and then clipped. He lifted his hand to call his ‘saber to him, before remembering where his ‘saber was and had a moment of relief that he hadn’t called it. He didn’t want to know Jango’s reaction to a sabre moving from wherever he’d put it to fly into the air.

Looking at his reflection, he was somewhat irritated by the state of his hair after so much time travelling. Well, if they were expecting a prim and proper Padawan, then a prim and proper Padawan they would get. With a burst of apology towards Master Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan re-did his padawan braid, repositioning the beads denoting his achievements and tied it off at the bottom. He re-tied his nerf tail and went over his outfit one last time, ensuring there were no creases or wrinkles. 

Leaving the fresher, Obi-Wan then glanced at the chrono on the desk to see that eighteen minutes had passed. He slipped his boots on and buckled them in quick succession before walking out the door to wait for Jango.

He didn’t have to wait long before Jango walked out in polished armour, sans helmet. A blue cape trailed from behind his shoulders to his knees and a braid of green, black, and red cord was looped over his right shoulder and under his arm. All in all, he looked like what one would expect of the Crown Prince of Mandalore. He looked over Obi-Wan dismissively before turning his back to him and starting to walk.

“Let’s go, Jetii. You don’t want to be late” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes behind Jango’s back.

“Indeed.” Jango led them back down the stairs to below the entrance hall. The guards stationed on either side of the doors to the Dining Hall nodded to Jango, who nodded back and tapped something onto his thigh-plate. The guards opened the large doors to reveal a long room with a gently sloped ceiling. That, with the tapestries covering the ceiling and walls, made the hall very reminiscent of a canvas tent. Obi-Wan quickly took note of the sheer number of armoured people who had stopped their conversations to stare at them. A zabrak woman in swirling green and gold armour came up to them in quick strides to gently touch foreheads with Jango. After releasing him she turned to Obi-Wan with a glint in her eyes.

“Aden’tra Cuyan, House Mereel, she/her/hers, Sol’Al’Verde. That means I’m in charge of all the soldiers.” She said all this almost like a test, one Obi-Wan was determined not to fail.

“Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi of the Jedi Order. Pleased to make your acquaintance and at your service.” He inclined his head and was about to straighten up again when he felt a warning flash through the Force. He spun on his heel and brought his hand up to catch the knife less than a hand-width from his face. “Well then,” he said in the silence that ensued. “I believe that means Garen won the bet. He’ll be insufferable after this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say sorry for the cliffy, but...
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Ba'vodu = aunt/uncle (my OC)  
> kad'au = lightsaber  
> Ka'ra = stars, also the dead Mand'alors in the afterlife  
> 'ika = affectionate term (Jan'ika = little/precious Jango)  
> hut'uun = coward, one of the worst insults for mandalorians  
> buy'ce = helmet  
> Sol'al'verde = comes from solus = one and al'verde = commander, so she's the First Commander


	3. Ruug’la Or’trikar - Old Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorians learn some uncomfortable truths about their enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter ran away from me fast. I originally wanted to encompass a lot more and have the actual dinner, but you got tragic backstory level 1 instead!

The guards at the doors leapt into action, herding the attacker into the room at blasterpoint and shutting the doors behind them. While Lady Cuyan pushed him behind her, Obi-Wan examined the knife in his hand. Utilitarian, no visible embellishments or marks, not even from a crafter’s seal. He flipped it in his hand a few times, testing the weight. Distantly, he heard Mand’alor Mereel tearing his attacker a new one. 

“Jetii or not, I announced on a  **system-wide** newscast that he would be under the protection of House Mereel  **last week** !! Not only do you dishonour me and my house, what if you had succeeded? What if you killed the Jet’ika and brought his entire Order down on our heads?” As the Mand’alor drew a breath to continue his tirade, Obi-Wan interrupted.

“They wouldn’t do anything. Or rather, they wouldn’t be  **able** to do anything. We’re on strict restrictions right now and can only take missions from the Senate.” He snorted. “The day the Senate faces its problems instead of throwing money they don’t have at it, is the day it snows on Mustafar.” Next to him, he felt Lady Cuyan frown.

“Isn’t that a good thing, though? More oversight -” Obi-Wan held up a hand.

“It was a Senate mission that got us all in this predicament in the first place. More oversight is needed, yes, but not on the Jedi. Were it not for the orders of the Senate, those Jedi would have never been sent to Galidraan.” Gasps and wipers broke out around the room at his declaration. An older Mandalorian stormed up to him and grasped his shoulders with one hand of blood and bone and one of servos and wiring. The Nautolan stared him in the eyes with something akin to desperation.

“Riddle me this then, Jetii.” They growled. “Why were their ships ready to go so quickly?” Each word was emphasized and it was all Obi-Wan could do to answer - with the confusion, anger, and grief pressing in on his shields.

“The ships were already prepped because they were scheduled for a rescue mission to a warzone. It’s a common tactic we use: if it’s a Senate mission, but we see the people need more than the Senate allows, the Jedi on the mission will find a reason to be split up so that only one of them makes it back to Coruscant. That way a rescue mission can be launched. We hide whatever we need to help the people in those rescue missions. Three years ago, the first mission was to negotiate a peace treaty between two warring factions so that they could join the Republic. Neither faction was willing to stand down, so the Jedi were ordered to return. They wanted to stay because of a third faction they wanted to help, so they split up. Those ships were meant to go to Melidaan, back when it was Melidaa-Daan.” The Nautolan closed their large eyes and shook in a sob.

“You mean to tell me,” they heaved in a great breath, “that my ad died because the Senate gets a power-trip off ordering the Jedi around?! That those power-stealing chakaare are the reason I added my ad’s name to my remembrances? Is that it?!” By the end, the Mandalorian was choking through, great, heaving sobs. Without thinking twice, Obi-Wan ducked forwards and wrapped his arms around the sobbing parent and pressed the armoured figure as close as he could. It took all the restraint he had not to envelop the Mandalorian in comfort through the Force. It wasn’t likely to be welcome or appreciated.

“I am so sorry.” He murmured. “It should never have happened, and I am so sorry it did. Words cannot express my sorrow at your loss.” He lifted his head to look at the other Mandalorians watching him. “All of your losses, I am so sorry.” By the time he had looked every armour-clad Mandalorian in the eyes to try to convey his sorrow, the Nautolan had begun to hug him back and their sobs were beginning to ease off.

“You have a kind heart, Jetii.” They said as they dried their eyes. “I am Dral Gotab, House Rook, they/them. I am the Head of the Armourers Guild.” Lord Gotab seemed ready to head back to their seat when they froze. “You said it was a pair of Jetii sent to Melidaan back when it was still Melida-Daan. Who was sent?” Obi-Wan winced. Internally, he wished he had put a notice-me-not over his words, but it was too late for that now.

“It was my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and I. The mission was supposed to teach me how to solve complex diplomatic problems.” The hand on his shoulder tightened. 

“And which one of you stayed behind?” The few conversations that had started again died back down. Looking around, he could see all eyes on him.

“Master Qui-Gon was the only one who could authorize a rescue mission and I was the only one who would need it. A Jedi Master can get through a warzone and off a planet easily, not so a Padawan. For those reasons, I stayed behind with the third faction and I had a commline straight to Master Jinn. Once he arrived on Coruscant, I had every other Master and Knight who’s ever been in so much as a firefight to guide me.” Instead of the constant low-level anger he had felt from the Mandalorians, he now felt their rising horror. Mand’alor Mereel in particular seemed to choke on air. 

“Your file says that you’re sixteen standard years old.” The Mand’alor’s dread was rising enough for Obi-Wan to taste. Mereel’s voice dropped to near a whisper. “You would have been  **thirteen** !” His voice regained its deep timbre. “You should have been nowhere near a battlefield! Your Master should have dragged you onto that ship regardless of-” Obi-Wan was content to keep quiet and listen to the Mand’alor rant, but he drew the line at insulting his Master.

“And I suppose we should have left those children to die?” Once again, dead silence followed his outburst.

“Children?” Lord Gotab’s hand on his shoulder tightened again. 

“The third faction was made up of the children of the Melidaa and the Daan who were sick and tired of constant war. They called themselves the Young. I was one of  **maybe** five thirteen-year-olds and everyone else was younger than that. There was no way we were leaving them to fend for themselves. Now, are we done prying into my past, or can we eat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I name the Head of the Armourers Guild Lord Smith? Yes. Yes, I did.
> 
> Vote in the comments: is it too early for Dral to take Obi under their wing or no?
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Jetii = Jedi  
> Ad = gender-neutral term for child  
> Chakaare = plural form of chakaar, grave-robber, intense insult


	4. Sha'kajir - Truce Over a Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gap between Mando'ade and Jedi may not be as wide as it seems...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me for a wild ride!! Once again, my thanks to the JangoObi Discord, they are all enablers and this is their fault. Big thanks for all the kudos and comments, guys!!

With a wave of the Mand’alor’s hand, the attacker - as shocked as the rest of them - was marched from the hall. The Mand’alor seemed to regain some of his composure as he looked Obi-Wan up and down.

“Yes, I suppose we should. Your seat is-”

“He can sit next to me, Mand’alor. Ni bajur kaysh.” Lord Gotab said in a carefully even tone. Obi-Wan didn’t know what the Mando’a meant but he felt the surprise rise in the room. At this point, he mused, some eyebrows or species equivalent had reached orbit and were unlikely to come back down. At Mereel’s nod, Obi-Wan followed Lord Gotab to the other side of the long, low table at the end of the hall. The Nautolan sat at one of the cushions on the right of the center cushions, which were being taken up by Jaster in the middle, Jango on the right, and Lady Cuyan on the left. Noticing Obi-Wan floundering, Lord Gotab patted the cushion to his right. Obi-Wan sat obediently, taking the chance to survey the room. Nearly fifty Mandalorians were taking their places around the table and the rest were patrolling around the low columns and behind the tapestries. As his gaze swept the room again, Obi-Wan’s eyes landed on the belt of the Mandalorian coming to sit in front of him. A lightsaber hung from a clip over their right hip. He gasped, recognizing the crystal’s song. He rubbed at his face, begging his eyes to stay dry. He felt Lord Gotab frown and the Mandalorian with Masma’s ‘saber smirk.

“What is it, Jetii? Did you happen to know the last owner?” Lord Gotab tapped a rhythm against the table, frown growing. Obi-Wan steeled himself.

“I did.” He saw the Mandalorian’s face drop. “She was Master Manra Kop, she was the first kata instructor for every single Jedi for the last fifty years, and we called her Masma. She taught us the basics because she never liked fighting, but found joy in the repetitive motions of the First Form. She loved to teach us. In her office, there were holos of every class of initiates she’d ever taught. Now those holos are in the Hall of Memory.” He wiped at his eyes again. “She was a non-combatant who took simple pleasure in guiding young children.” Her killer paled dramatically. They cleared their throat.

“If she was a non-combatant,” they whispered, “what was she doing on that planet?”

“It was meant to be a rescue mission, remember? In the Order, those are volunteer-based. They had enough fuel to make the round trip from Coruscant to Galidraan, to Melidaa/Daan, and back to Coruscant. The faster they finished their surprise assignment, the sooner they could bring us aid!” He growled out the last few words as tears started to leak from his eyes. He wiped them again and sighed. “Please forgive me for my outburst, it’s been so long since I’ve felt Masma’s force signature.” He pointed at her ‘saber. 

Mand’alor Mereel spoke up with a frown. “Feel? What do you mean,  **feel** ?” 

Obi-Wan looked him right in the eyes. If this was to be the first true exchange of culture and explanation of customs, he refused to kark it up. “People, their emotions, and their overall,” he waved his hands over his body, “soul, spirit, mind, however you want to call it, leave impressions on objects and places. The longer an object’s been in a person’s possession, the more of their presence is steeped into it. The more emotion in an event, the more firm the impression on the object or location. There is a reason Korriban is so dangerous for Jedi, and it isn’t the Sith tombs, but I digress.” 

He looked around the table to see all the attention was on him again. Great. He projected his voice so he could be heard. “We make our lightsabers at the beginning of our apprenticeships and most Jedi will use the same lightsaber their entire lives. Those who change lightsabers usually change the hilt, but keep the original crystal, add crystals, or both. For the vast majority of Jedi, we keep the crystals we find as new Padawans all our lives. We don’t choose our kyber crystals, they choose us. We meditate with them, we grow with them, we have force bonds with them, they sing to us, they are extensions of us.” He drew in a tight breath. “I haven't heard Masma’s song in over three years.” With every word, Jango seemed to grow more and more uncomfortable, for reasons Obi-Wan couldn’t guess. 

“If your lightsabers are extensions of you, then they’re like Beskar’gam!” The speaker was a Pantoran teenager of around Obi-Wan’s age who was seated across from Jango. He looked horrified by his words, as did most of the Mandalorians.

“If what I know about your armour is true, then yes.” Lord Gotal’s eyebrow rose.

“If it’s true?” they asked, “Do you not take us at face value, Jet’ika?” Obi-Wan chuckled. 

“Not at all, it’s only that there’s so little we know for sure about Mandalorian culture, Lord Gotab -”

“There’s no need for that, call me Cabur Dral.” More mutterings broke out around the table. Obi-Wan considered for a moment.

“Before I agree, what does Cabur mean?” He prayed to the Force this wasn’t another joke.

“Guardian, shield, protector, anything along those lines. Children use it to denote adults they trust but have no familial ties to.” Either Lo- Cabur Dral had  **very** good shields or they were telling the truth, so Obi-Wan relaxed.

“In that case, please, call me Obi-Wan. I only ask because, well.” He broke off into chuckles. “When I first received this assignment, I went searching in our archives for a guide to Mando’a. I found a single such book in the very back of the Mandalorian section and began to study it. I never got very far into it, and I do believe it was someone’s idea of a joke. It claimed that - and please, don’t stab me either for what I’m about to say or how badly I may pronounce it - kote lo'shebs'ul narit is a common greeting.” For a moment there was dead silence and Obi-Wan wondered if he hadn’t miscalculated. Suddenly Jango dropped his hand to the table. He had a huge grin on his face, the first Obi-Wan had ever seen.

“They didn’t.”

“Oh, I assure you they did.” Cabur Dral snorted. Then again. Then they chuckled. Then little gasps escaped them, their ahwey shaking. The Mandalorian across from Obi-Wan began to chuckle, recovering from his shock. One after another, all the Mandalorians began to laugh until they were all doubled over and gasping for breath. As Cabur Dral leaned on him, trying and failing to catch their breath, Obi-Wan thought that there was no better way to bring people together than laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: a new character gets introduced (not an OC)
> 
> Question: Would you guys rather I keep up the fast updates and short chapters or slow it down and longer chapters? 
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Ni bajur kaysh = I will teach/educate/show him  
> Beskar'gam = lit. iron skin, traditional Mandalorion armour  
> Cabur = guardian/protector  
> kote lo'shebs'ul narit = mando'a.org says it means "You can keep your glory" but with the presence of shebs I find it to be more of "You know where to shove your glory\Shove it up your ass\You can take your glory and shove it where the Ka'ra can't see!!"


	5. Haili Cetare - Eat Up! (Fill Your Boots)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan learns more about how his stay will go and makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I promised the Discord no angst, so this is worldbuilding and Fluff with Crack at the end!!

#  hapter 5

Conversations started back up once everyone had caught their breath. Cabur Dral turned to him.

“That was well done. As an armourer, many people come to me for advice or counsel. I know a deflection when I see one. However, you’ve successfully diffused the situation and lightened the mood. Now, before we sat, I told the Mand’alor I’d show you. I meant that I’d tell you about how your stay with us will work. First things first, Manda’yaim works on five-day weeks and our months are three weeks long. Every month you have one week of core schooling, one week of specialized apprenticeships, and one week off. In total, ten days of work and five days of rest. We have 24 months in a year and one week of holidays. That’s the week where we have that year’s Verd’gotens, we honour those marching far away, celebrate our aliite, and generally have a good time. The words I said, ‘Ni bajur kaysh,’ do you know why that’s relevant to the topic at hand?” 

Obi-Wan considered the foreign words carefully. “Is it because education and raising are the same words in Mando’a?” 

Cabur Dral broke into a wide grin, looking to Obi-Wan like an older, more scarred, Knight Fisto. “Ori’jate! That means very good, by the way. What I said means that I’m taking you under my wing as your guardian. Not as a parent, I don’t think either of us would have done well with that at the moment. However, it does mean that I have taken at least partial responsibility for your education until your Verd’goten.” 

Obi-Wan frowned for a moment. “I’m sixteen though, and I’ve fought and won a war, to boot. I think I’ve proven my mettle, why do I need to pass a Verd’goten?” Servers came from behind one of the tapestries with carts piled high with covered bowls. Obi-Wan leaned back to allow them to place a bowl in front of him and lift the cover. He thanked the server and then raised an eyebrow at the glass and jug of blue milk placed in front of him. Cabur Dral laughed at his expression.

“Believe me, Ob’ika, you’ll need that milk.” Privately, Obi-Wan disagreed, but he didn’t interrupt. “As for your Verd’goten, it’s mostly a formality, albeit an important one. When you apply for an apprenticeship, your Verd’goten witnesses and schoolteachers are your main references. It’s where you earn the right to wear kom’rke, vambraces, outside of training. Once you have those, you can work up to a full suit. In your case, you’ll be earning each piece for the first time. It’s a huge cultural milestone, one you need to understand and complete for this ‘cultural exchange’. Festival Week is in three months, so your apprentice-weeks are going to instead be spent preparing your hand-to-hand skills, aptitudes with different blasters, proficiencies with different weapons, wilderness survival, hunting, that sort of thing. We’ll keep talking in a bit, alright?” 

Around them, people were beginning to eat. Following their lead, Obi-Wan picked up the long, thin sticks next to his bowl and held them between his thumb and first two fingers. He looked into his bowl to see thin, long noodles with flat strips of meat mixed in. The whole dish was covered in a bright red sauce. Given the colour and the comment about the blue milk, Obi-Wan was of the suspicion that the food in his bowl was spicy, very spicy. He reached out with the force and felt most of the attention on him - discreetly in some cases, in others, not - with no small amount of glee. He picked up a few noodles and a piece of meat with his sticks and put them in his mouth. The Mandalorians were losing their subtlety, waiting for a reaction.

“Very good, this. I love the spice blend, but I only recognize a third of them.” He relished in the disappointment bleeding into the Force but outright guffawed at the Mandalorian across from him staring with their jaw on the floor. He chewed through small giggles. “What?” He said, laughter clear in his voice. “I survived a year on bland rations that probably tasted worse than the crates we found them in. Since spices keep forever, and they made the meals somewhat palatable, we used a lot of them. Now, is there a place to get these spices on Coruscant? I need to be prepared for the next creche war.” 

Cabur Dral shook their head. “We don’t have time to unpack the first, yes to the second, it’s in Little Keldabe, and I won’t even ask about the third.” 

Obi-Wan laughed. “That’s probably for the best.” On his other side, someone cleared their throat.

“I thought Jedi were peacekeepers? Why do you speak of war so casually?” The speaker was a young Mandalorian with blond chin-length hair and clear eyes. Their pale face was narrow and delicate but set with fierce determination. They were beautiful, Obi-Wan mused, then flushed slightly at the thought. Surprisingly, they wore no armour save their vambraces, which were lavender with white Mandalorian lilies engraved around the beskar. They smiled, a small upturn of the mouth and Obi-Wan knew he wanted to see them truly smile. He smiled in response, praying to the Force he wouldn’t insult them accidentally.

“While we normally try to talk our way through conflicts, we can’t stop the fact that sometimes, people will refuse to back down. Yes, Jedi avoid violence when we can, but I was, unfortunately, stuck fighting a war because I believed in the cause and the people behind it. I can talk about it so casually because I’ve had  **numerous** sessions with the Temple mind-healers on the subject and I’ve spent countless hours meditating on my experience and coming to terms with it. But I do believe you were referring to what I called creche wars, Mx…” He trailed off, waiting for them to fill him in. They smiled a few centimetres wider and Obi-Wan mentally counted it as a victory. 

“Satine Kryze, House Kryze, she/her. And yes, that was where most of my concern came from.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed another bite of his food and laughed. “In that case, my Lady, there is no need for you to worry! Creche wars are nothing more than prank wars among creche clans. The last one involving my clan ended…” he counted tendays on his fingers and then did the mental conversions to Mandalorian months. “Three Mandalorian months ago, due to Council intervention.” 

Satine raised an eyebrow, her smile growing by the minute. “And what, pray tell, warranted Council Intervention?” 

Obi-Wan smirked.“Twelve councillors with robes dyed various colours, eleven glitter bombs, ten jump-scares in the showers, nine mock duels, eight disrupted initiate meditations, seven arrests, six small - controlled - fires, five greased puffer pigs listed one through four and six, four slip’n’slides in the Temple halls, three accidental marriages, two initiate clans on week-long sugar highs, and one Temple-wide 0300 wake-up call.” He punctuated each item on the list with a jab of his utensils. Once again, the entire table was silent and staring at him in disbelief. Obi-Wan’s focus, however, was on Satine and doing his level best to make her laugh.

“Truly? Is this what the mystical Jedi Order does in its spare time?” 

Obi-Wan’s ears flushed red and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Well, only its younger members are this flamboyant about it, but yes.” Satine burst into laughter, smile glowing from ear to ear. Obi-Wan laughed with her, a strange feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t Force-related, so he pushed it to the side. Around them, the other Mandalorians were off laughing again, wiping their eyes and leaning on each other or the table for support. 

Over the din, Obi-Wan distantly heard Jango ask his father, “Why did we get the crazy Jet’ika?” They were Mandalorians, he thought. It was a compliment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me!! I promise, the endgame is JangObi, just stick with me!!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Manda'yaim = the planet Mandalore  
> Verd'goten = trial of skill and combat, Mandalorian rite of adulthood, held at 13 years old  
> Ni bajur kaysh = I will teach/educate/raise him  
> Ori'jate = very good  
> Komr'k'e = vambraces, armour worn on the forearm  
> Lavender = not a word, but a colour I made up a meaning for. It's a mix of white = new start and purple = luck. In this, Satine hasn't yet been fully radicalized and is just a pacifist, not a fanatic one, so she still follows her culture.


	6. Su cuy'gar - Hello (You’re still alive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango works out some things with his Buir and Obi-Wan shares some news with the Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this is so late, life has been kicking my shebs lately, but I offer this chapter as recompense?

“Buir?” Jango stared at the jetii’kad in his hands, the starlight bouncing off the metal.

“‘Lek?” Jas’buir stepped into the small sitting room between their separate rooms, a space just for the two of them. “What is it, ad?”

“What do we do about Kenobi’s kad’au?” Jango could  **hear** his Buir’s smirk and instantly regretted his words. “No, Buir I-”

“Well, I’m far too old for him, if that’s what you’re asking-”

“BUIR!!” 

Jas’buir roared with laughter, slapping his unarmoured thigh. 

“I’m just teasing you, Jango. What about his kad’au?” 

Jango gave him the stink-eye but forged on anyway. “We can’t keep it on ourselves. Not if a jetii’kad is to them what beskar’gam is to us. But, we can’t give it back to him, either. I don’t trust him, but…” He drifted off, not knowing what exactly he felt about the teen across the hall. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi was a paradox. He was outspoken, yet moved conversations away from himself with the ease of a career politician. He was meek when he arrived, yet was already battle-forged. Jango put the tightness in his chest up to the children Kenobi had spoken about. Children under thirteen should not be anywhere near a battle, yet Kenobi said children as young as  **five** had participated in fully-fledged assaults. Jas’buir sighed.

“Well, we’ll talk to him about that in the morning, Jango. There’s not much we can do on that front until we have more intel. But I agree with you. For one of us to carry it as openly as you did tonight would be extremely disrespectful.” They sat across the low table from each other, inspecting their beskar’gam, and placing it back on its rack. Once the racks were full and Concordia high in the night sky, Jango turned to the window to light their candle. 

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.” They murmured the phrase together, then alternated names. Jango counted himself lucky that he only had three to say.

“Rusaan Fett.”

“Kot Mereel.”

“Brii Fett.”

“Gev Rook”

“Arla Fett.”

“Bric Mev.” The list of names went on into the night, memories kept alive by both father and son. 

Obi-Wan sat on the bed, staring at the stars through the window. Tomorrow, Cabur Dral had explained, he would shadow Jango through his classes, then, after the school day was completed, he would meet with the Bajur’Alor to discuss his courses. The discussion would involve himself, the Bajur’Alor, Cabur Dral, Mand’alor Mereel, and Master Jinn and parts of the High Council as well. Cabur Dral had assured Obi-Wan that all his courses would be in basic unless he chose otherwise, but there was still a huge cultural gap to be breached. 

He drew in a shaky breath at the memory of Masma, brought close for the first time in nearly a year by her lightsaber. Obi-Wan would have known it anywhere, he had seen it often enough. Obi-Wan centred himself in the Force until he could feel his bond with Quin, then let himself fall into it. He opened his eyes to a hazy version of the Temple, in the refectory. Judging from the kind of food around him, it was firstmeal, though the atmosphere was significantly more sombre than most firstmeals Obi-Wan had eaten there. Everyone seemed sluggish, heads low and shoulders down. He frowned and followed the bond further, to the Tholme-Vos residence. More specifically, the tug in his mind led him into Quin’s room, which was in more disarray than usual. His brother walked out of the ‘fresher, piling his dreads on the crown of his head. 

“Hey, Quin.” Obi-Wan couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice. “How are you?” Quin shouted wordlessly and bounded over to his projection, doing his very best to hug Obi-Wan. 

At first, when they were children, the bond only allowed them to hear each other across great distances, like any other pair-bond (regardless of the fact that most pair-bonds only formed at around 20 years old), but by the time they reached thirteen, the two could completely project their consciousness to anywhere within five meters of each other, from anywhere in the same system. Now, they could project themselves anywhere within a click of each other, from anywhere in the galaxy. They’d gotten a few odd looks for it in the past, from Force-nulls and Jedi alike. Lately, though, other Jedi seemed able to sense the projection's Force signature and the projections were quasi-physical to the other, like silly putty. To put it mildly, it made their first projected hugs a little… odd. Given that Quin had spent every night of the trip to Mandalore hugging the life out of Obi-Wan, they were used to it.

“You’re here! Oh, thank the Force, you’re here!!” Quin nearly sobbed in relief.

“Quin,” Obi-Wan chuckled, “you can see me whenever you decide to project yourself. This isn't any different.”

“Yes, it is.” The Kiffar glared at Obi-Wan. “When I go see you, you’re on Mandalore, with people who actively hate you at best, or tolerate you, at worst. When you come here, you’re coming home.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic, now can I?” Obi-Wan let himself enjoy the embrace for a moment longer. “Quin, I need you to request an emergency audience with the High Council. It’s important.”

“Why, has something-” “Nothing bad has happened to me,” Obi-Wan cut his brother off, not wanting Quin to panic at imaginary scenarios. “But it’s important, and the Council needs to hear it.” 

Quin nodded, slipped his boots on, and walked into his living room. “Master Tholme’s in the archives writing reports on my progress, so we’re good to go on that front.” As they stepped into the hallway, he grinned at Obi-Wan. “Race you there?” he said, as he took off running.

“Oh, it’s on,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself before dashing after Quin. He made it a few hallways before smirking to himself and thinking of a new solution. He closed his eyes and pushed his projection to the audience chamber’s foyer. He folded his hands behind his back and waited for Quin to arrive. 

Unsurprisingly, Quin arrived not by lift or stair, but by bounding up the center of the stairwell in great, Force-assisted jumps. When he saw Obi-Wan grinning at him from across the chamber, he groaned and murmured under his breath. Panting slightly from exertion, he ambled over to the desk beside the Council Doors where one of the Council Padawans was organizing the schedule for the day.

“I need to speak to the Masters, it’s urgent,” Quinlan said, with a serious look on his face. 

The Padawan-secretary smiled placidly. “I’m sure it is, but their schedule is already very heavy and-” 

“It’s about Padawan Kenobi!” Quinlan interrupted, his serious expression sliding towards a scowl. 

The Padawan-secretary stopped in his tracks, typed something into one of the datapads on his desk, and said, “The Council will see you momentarily.” 

After less than fifteen minutes, the doors opened and Quinlan strode briskly into the room. “I’m here because Obi-Wan wants to say something. I promise this isn’t a prank. I’m not here to say anything really, just pass along the message.” 

Master Koon nodded to him. “I assume that Padawan Kenobi is with us now?” Quin nodded. “Very well, what news has he for us?” 

Obi-Wan took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “Up until a few hours ago, Mandalorians as a whole had no idea what our lightsabers meant to us,” Quin repeated what he said word for word. “It is common for one who has,” he swallowed thickly, “killed a Jedi to carry their ‘saber as proof of their skill in battle.” Murmurs broke out among the council and muted grief slipped through their shields. Obi-Wan carried on. “I found this out because, at last night’s dinner, the Mandalorian sitting across from me was carrying Masma’s lightsaber.” Now all the Masters bowed their heads.

“Hurts, it does, to hear that disrespected, her ‘saber has been.” Master Yoda’s ears drooped with the reminder of the beloved Master’s death. 

Master Mundi let his face fall into his hand and said, “Is there a way we can recover their lightsabers? Any possibility, at all?” 

Obi-Wan thought for a moment: “If we offered to return the Mandalorian armour in the archives as an exchange? It would highlight how similar the two are in terms of importance to the bearer and would demonstrate a willingness on our part. Right now, Mandalore believes me to be here at the behest of the Senate and not much else. Returning their armour would go a long way to soothe ruffled feathers and further diplomatic relations.” 

Once Quin finished repeating, Adi Gallia, the newest addition to the High Council, drily commented, "And this is how we know it truly is Padawan Kenobi speaking." “And this is how we know it truly is Padawan Kenobi speaking.” Soft laughter sounded around the chamber and Quin’s face pinched mock-annoyed.

“I resent that remark.” he griped. 

Obi-Wan turned to face him. “Do you mean resent, or resemble?”

“The peanut gallery will be silent or be ignored.” The last sentence set off another bout of laughter in the chamber.

“I must speak to the Mand’alor about this, see if I can get permission for one of our ships to enter their space, see if they’ll allow it in the first place.” Said Obi-Wan. 

Yoda nodded. “Very well, young Obi-Wan. Rest, you should. See you soon, we hope too.”

“And you as well, Master Yoda.” Obi-Wan bowed to his Great-Grandmaster even though he knew the green Jedi couldn’t see him. He closed his eyes and fell into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sad some feel good, tell me what you think!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Buir = Parent  
> 'Lek, short for Elek = Yes  
> Ad = child, kid  
> Kad'au = lightsaber, also innuendo  
> Jetii'kad = Lightsaber of a Jedi  
> Beskar'gam = armour, of the Mandalorian variety (lit. iron skin)  
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum = Mandalorian remembrances, to be said every day followed by the names of the dead. (lit. I am alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal)  
> Bajur'Alor = Headmaster (lit. leader of educators)


	7. Balac - Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan meditates and Jaster is a Dad. Jango has more personal growth, and that's the chapter!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been Decided that Jaster will be Aware of Certain Things long before anyone else. Poor guy, the amount of pining he'll have to suffer...

Obi-Wan rose with the sun, as was his usual. He stretched out his muscles, then placed the palms of his hands on a sunny patch of floor, kicked his feet up, and closed his eyes. He reached out with the Force, first to himself, his heart, his lungs, his breath. He extended his senses to beyond himself, feeling the humming in the walls from the electricity. With his next exhale, he reached out to the hallway. He could feel who he assumed were Jango and Mand’alor Mereel. The former was dead to the world, the latter, in the process of waking up. There were two guards at the end of the hallway, another on every landing of the stairway. The palace was waking up, more and more people starting their day. Keldabe was a beacon of energy, people already commuting to work, ending the night shift. Ships were beginning to arrive for the day, imports of grain, seeds, livestock, durasteel, and what he believed to be beskar. Beyond the city, the Northern forests rang to life with birdsong. 

Obi-Wan turned his senses to his bonds, ensuring that none of them were under dangerous strain. He soothed the frayed edges of his smaller bonds and fed the larger ones, praying to the Force that he’d remain sane without other Jedi around. With practiced ease, he let the shuddering memories of Melidaan pass into the Force. Fear would do him no good here. Sensing as Jango began to move around, Obi-Wan let his senses shrink back into himself, opened his eyes and righted himself. Obi-Wan felt more balanced than he had since leaving the Temple. 

Once his morning routine finished, Obi-Wan stepped into the hallway to find Jango waiting for him. The Mand’al’ad’s amber eyes scowled at him, as per usual, and his voice was gruff from sleep.

“Since it’s only firstmeal, we aren’t eating in the big hall. It’s just down the hallway, follow me.” Jango led him to a cozy dining room with a low table set for three. Laid on the table were fruits, strips of meat, and cheese. Light, but filling. Obi-Wan sat down across from Jango and filled up his plate. While they began to eat, Mand’alor Mereel joined them. He and Jango held eye contact, seeming to have a silent conversation before the Mand’alor sighed.

“Kenobi?” Mereel seemed … resigned, but somewhat sad, at the same time.

“Please, do call me Obi-Wan, Mand’alor. Since I am to be here for a length of time, I see no reason for you to be unnecessarily formal with me. Can I help you in any way?” As he spoke, Obi-Wan tried to imagine what the Mand’alor could want to speak of with him. Had he done something wrong already? Maybe it was about the knife no one took from him during or after the dinner?

“In that case, there is no need to be so formal with me, either. Call me Jas’lor, or, if you’re comfortable, Cabur Jaster. I understand if the latter will be a while coming.” He smiled wryly. “I wanted to speak to you about your lightsaber. I hope you understand that we do not trust you as of yet, simply because we don’t know you well enough to.” Obi-Wan nodded. The logic was sound, he had used it himself when he was with the Young. “However, given what you’ve told us, it would be wrong for us to hold on to it as we have.” Jas’lor looked to Jango, who took advantage of the pause.

“I’m sorry for wearing your kad’au last night. If I’d have known how disrespectful it was…” Jango drifted off, seemingly lost for words. 

“Thank you Jango, I appreciate and accept your apology. There’s no way you could have known about our customs. After all, that’s the point of this venture, is it not?” Obi-Wan forced himself to smile at Jango, hoping to avoid further discussion on the topic. 

The truth was, he hoped the Mandalorians would trust him with his ‘saber again soon, if only for the focus his crystal gave him. “Jas’lor, I trust that you can safeguard my lightsaber until I earn the right to wear it again?” at his nod, Obi-Wan continued cautiously. “Given what I learned last night, lightsabers and your armour share cultural significance. In our archives, we have a few crates worth of beskar’gam from the last Mando-Jedi war.” Seeing both Jas’alor and Jango tense up, Obi-Wan forged ahead. “Once the war ended, Mandalorian space had a strict no-Jedi policy, and so there was no way to return the armour to its people. However, with me here, I was wondering if you’d allow a small team, just a two-person archivist-escort pair, to land in Keldabe and return the armour?”

Jaster was impressed. This Jet’ika was far from home — in what had to feel like enemy territory — and within 24 hours he was already proposing a dangerous venture for his people. 

Jaster considered the idea for a moment, then said, “I’ll talk it over with the council today, but I don’t see why not.” Obi-Wan beamed with the force of a thousand suns. Internally, Jaster sighed at the look Jan’ika shot the Jet’ika. His child was smitten, even if he was unaware and unwilling to consider the idea. “Now, Obi-Wan, here’s your school bag. It’s got a datapad with an academic comm frequency already uploaded, some flimsy and a stylus if you need to take physical notes. Do you have clothes you can exercise in?” at the kid’s hesitant nod, Jaster raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a set to last you all five days?” he shook his head no. “After your classes today we’ll go get you some. Pack up a set for today, get a canteen of water, then Jango’ll drive you over.” 

Jan’ika’s head shot up. “I can’t fly over like usual?” Jango’s pout could be weaponized, and the little womp rat  **knew it** . 

Jaster not-so-subtly glanced over at Obi-Wan and said, “You have a guest who doesn’t have a jetpack, and you got your full license over a year ago. You can drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dadness is stored in the Mando... (I need to come up with a word in Mando'a for 'Dad joke')
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Mand'al'ad = prince/princess  
> Mand'alor = sole leader/ruler of Mandalore  
> Jas'lor = shortened version of Jaster alor (Made up suffix for 'sir')  
> Cabur = Guardian  
> Kad'au = lightsaber


	8. Narudar - Temporary ally (Not yet a friend)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango and Obi-Wan get to class, meet some people, and Jango starts catching feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a really long time to get out, so I hope you enjoy!!

Jango huffed as he brought the speeder to a halt in his barely-used parking spot. The Jet’ika - Obi-Wan - hopped out of the passenger side and waited for him to walk towards the entryway. He glanced up to see the smaller landing pad for the flyers. Myles and Silas would be there, as would most of his other verd-inclined classmates. But he had to take the speeder. Because of the kriffing Jetii. The atrium was as calming as it could be, for a Mandalorian school. Small scuffles, mostly roughhousing, were visible here and there, and half the students were wearing armour. Barely anyone wore their full kit to school, but nearly all of them wore their kom’rke. 

The first order of business, getting to History class. Jango strode forwards with only a glance to ensure Obi-Wan was following. The Jetii was scanning the large room, taking note of movement and exits without overtly staring. Jango was almost impressed. Of course, the morning couldn’t go completely smoothly. The others started to notice the two of them, nudging each other and whispering. Jango steeled himself and walked through the corridors, marching on autopilot to the classroom. He palmed the third-floor door open, waved Obi-Wan through, and walked to his usual spot. 

“Err, Jango?” He sighed and turned to face Obi-Wan. “Where should I sit?” 

Jango pondered for a moment. Myles always sat to his right, and Silas, to his left. But he felt he needed to keep an eye on the Jet’ika, so he pointed to the seat in front of him. “This way, no-one will kick you from behind.” 

The redhead raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what, pray tell, stops you from doing the same?” 

Jango could see the way Obi-Wan’s lips tugged upwards slightly in amusement. He let himself lean back and enjoy the joke. “Mutually assured destruction. You sleep across the hall and I remember the list you gave us last night. I don’t want to be your enemy in a prank war.” Seeing the way Obi-Wan smiled, a voice in his mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, Jango wouldn’t want to be Obi-Wan’s enemy in  **any** war.

"Very well, I admit, I’ve had much practice. Do you know what particular period of history we’ll be studying?” Obi-Wan asked. 

As Jango went into the curriculum of the course and what they had covered so far, the other students began to file in. Myles dropped into his usual seat at his right and clasped arms with Jango. The Pantoran started talking his ear off about his baby sister’s gote’tuur, and how she was the  **cutest** four-year-old ever. Silas collapsed on Jango’s left, his best friends on either side of him. 

“Su cuy’gar Jango, Myles, Jetii.” Silas nodded to them all in turn. 

Obi-Wan spun in his seat, arm outstretched. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I presume ‘su cuy’gar’ means hello?” Obi-Wan’s Mando’a came out hesitantly as if his mouth wasn’t sure what sounds to make. Jango was sure that the Jet’ika would speak his buir’joha beautifully, he just needed to learn. Jango suddenly wanted to be the one to teach him. 

As he pondered how to approach the topic, Silas brought his hand in a so-so gesture. “It translates to ‘you’re still alive’, but yeah, that’s the sentiment.” Obi-Wan nodded, smile brightening. Silas leaned forwards to clasp forearms with the Jet’ika, adjusting his hand placement as he went. “And this is how Mando’ade greet each other.” 

Jango cleared his throat. “If you’d like, Obi-Wan, I could teach you Mando’a in the afternoons after class?” Myles blinked at him confusedly. Ah, yes. Obi-Wan hadn’t been on Manda’yaim for a full day yet and Jango had been complaining about having to live with a Jetii for  **months** . “It’ll make it easier to understand our culture if you know how we speak and what we place value in.” Jango could feel his ears heating up, but Obi-Wan’s smile made it worth it.

“I’d love to, thank you. I quite enjoy learning languages, I believe Mando’a will be no different.” Obi-Wan said. 

A new voice broke in, “Perhaps, but most of that language is rooted in violence, which we should be trying to distance ourselves from.” Satine Kryze. Of course, she would show up just as he was having a good day. Jango bit back a groan, but let himself sigh.

“Is your usual seat taken, Kryze?” Usually, the blonde sat at the front of the class, so she “wouldn’t have to see any armour or weapons”. What she was doing near them, halfway back, was anybody’s guess. 

“No. I just thought Obi-Wan here would appreciate some civilized conversation while our teachers vilify his culture for the next six months.” She put her bag down on the desk in front of Myles with a dull thunk. The Pantoran let his head flop back in a muffled groan. If Kryze was here, they’d have to hear  **all** about her “opinions” on Manda’yaim: what it means to be Mando’ade, what Mandokarla  **really** was, and everything else she’d picked up on Coruscant.

“Come now, Satine, I’m sure it won’t be too bad. I’ve heard it all already anyway. Jango, Myles, and Silas are perfectly respectable, is there an issue?” Obi-Wan said with an innocent expression.

Jango’s stomach clenched. Obi-Wan was defending them, even after the cold welcome he got. The redhead’s eyebrows pinched in the center of his face and Jango wanted nothing more than to smooth those worries away.

“Nothing much. Just a difference in ideologies. See, Satine went to a Core-world school when she was younger, so she thinks a little,” he tried to find a polite word to describe her di’kutla ideas, “differently from those raised here.”

“Do not insult my Father’s choice! He did what was best for me! I learned many things on Coruscant, things that would move Mandalore forward, if I ever get the chance to implement them.” Satine said, her face hot with displeasure. 

Jango felt himself shift from Schoolday Jango to Mand’al’ad Jango Fett. “I didn’t bring your  **Buir** ,” he emphasized the Mando’a word, “into this, but those snobs would rip Manda’yaim’s teeth out and call it ‘progress’. They’d have us lose our way of life in the name of reform while ignoring the reforms already happening!”

“Oh, so you agree with him because he’s your  **Father** , I thought you were being trained in politics, Fett. All the change has been external. Nothing has changed internally.” Satine said self righteously. 

Now the other students were watching them, some with their comms out and recording. With Satine rejecting violence of all kinds since she had returned from Coruscant, fistfights were out of the question. These verbal battles were as close as he could get to punching her face in. He wouldn’t fight someone who wouldn’t or couldn’t fight him back, but oh, she made it tempting.

“I agree with him,” he said through his teeth, “because his reforms stopped the clan wars.” 

She smirked at him, rebuttal ready. “No, his reforms nearly got him  **killed** on Galidraan, along with his family.” Shocked gasps rang around and everyone in half-armour or more shot to their feet, Jango included. 

“HOW DARE YOU-”

“MY ORI’VOD’S MISSING A  **LEG** -”

“Just because  **you** won’t fight-”

“[ENOUGH!!!!]” Ruus’baji roared, eight feet of Wookie poised to lift anyone by the scruff of the neck if they didn’t comply. “[Enough. Class, sit. Down.]”

They sat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myles, Silas and Quinlan are going to end up with a groupchat named "Why Are We Friends With Oblivious Idiots". I will go further into Satine's backstory and why she's the way she is, but, yeah... not a fan of cultural genocide. Ever.
> 
> Text between brackets [like this] is in Shyriiwook unless otherwise specified
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Jet'ika = little Jedi, Padawan  
> Jetii = Jedi  
> Komr'k'e = vambraces  
> Su cuy'gar = Hello (lit. You're still alive)  
> buir'joha = parent tongue (from buir = parent, joha = language)  
> Mando'ade = mandalorians  
> Buir = parent  
> Ori'vod = older sibling


	9. Evaar kar’tayl - New knowldge/awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan gets through his first morning of classes on Mandalore, and feels start to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really hard to write (probably because I know what's coming and, yeah... :p) so I hope you guys enjoy!!

Obi-Wan glanced at the trio behind him with worry. Even without looking at the Force, he could tell that Satine’s comment hit them hard.

“Are you alright?” he whispered to Jango.

“I’m fine. We can talk after class?” Obi-Wan nodded and only just stopped himself from sending a wave of support and comfort through the Force. Jas’lor had been very clear. No mental manipulations and no second chances. Obi-Wan wasn’t going to risk anything so soon. He settled for smiling.

“[Are you done?]” The Wookie in front of the board growled out. “[As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have a new student joining us. Could someone translate for him?]” Some people raised their hands, so Obi-Wan butted in.

“[That won’t be necessary. Shyriiwook is my first spoken language.]” More than one jaw dropped open at that. “But I’ve been told that any human who speaks it has a horrible accent, and it was much cuter when we were five.” He felt the teacher light up in the force and grinned.

“[Very well. I am Ruus’baji she/her/hers, I teach Level 5 History.]” Ruus’baji stepped back and turned the holo-board on. “[For the next term, we will study the Neo-Crusader era. I cannot stress the importance of this unit and each of you must take it seriously.]” She took the time to look all the students in their eyes. “[Many atrocities were committed by all sides. We will examine them, and by the end, you will know what not to do. Ever.]” She growled out the last words. Obi-Wan winced. 

The Neo-Crusaders had a reputation for having been vicious, merciless, ruthless, and borderline barbaric. At the Temple, they had glossed over the era during ancient galactic history, but this seemed it was going into the nitty-gritty. More than one helmet turned to stare at him. Ah, yes. Satine’s words came back to him. While they vilify his culture for the next six months, indeed! His ancestors would be the villains. He opened his datapad to take notes, remembering the countless ancient texts he’d gone over with Madame Nu and poli-social debates with Grandmaster Doo. He’d be fine, he reasoned. He knew his history.

“I’ve never heard of that history before, am I in the right galaxy?” Obi-Wan walked with Satine to their next class, Jango having stayed behind to speak to Ruus’baji.

“No, just the wrong planet. I’m sorry in advance for what you will endure in that class. We’re turning right here.” Satine was a breath of fresh air among the angry and hateful Force signatures around him, and was friendly to boot. Obi-Wan smiled at her, hoping she’d keep talking to him.

“Jango said you went to school on Coruscant?” She lit up like a thousand suns, he’d obviously said the right thing.

“Yes, Coruscant Elite Academy. Father was worried for my safety during the Clan Wars, so he sent me there for a few years. They were the best teachers I could’ve ever asked for.” She led him down another flight of stairs. “They taught me how to lead, how to think for myself, and how to find a peaceful solution to everything.”

A Mandalorian Pacifist. Who knew? Maybe, if more Mandalorians thought like her, Mandalore might be less war-like in the future? He voiced his thoughts to Satine, who scoffed in derision.

“Mandalore is ruled by the clans, and as long as Mereel has their support, Mandalore can never change. He may call himself the Reformer, but he’s still cut from the same cloth. Most of them are, in fact. My family along with a few others are a part of a rising movement called the New Mandalorians. We aim to pacify Mandalore and move towards a prosperous new era where all conflicts will be resolved by words alone. Without the armour of the past weighing us down, Mandalore will rise into a new era of peace and prosperity, I am sure of it.” Her conviction dazzled him. In the Force, her determination to see her dream become reality was pulsing outwards like a flame in the night. It was admirable. She was admirable.

“So you believe that violence should never be used?”

“Never. Taking a life is abhorrent.” 

Obi-Wan remembered his days as an unshielded initiate, then as a general on Melidaan, and decided he agreed with her. Death was horrible, but something nagged at him. “Not even in self-defence? What if Mandalore were to be attacked?” He couldn’t help asking.

She waved her hand while laughing. “No one would, that’s the beauty of it! We’re already reconciling,” she gestured to him as an example, “with some of our oldest enemies, what’s to say we can’t do that with everyone else?” They walked into their second class, Galactic Ethics, all while Satine spoke about her dream for Mandalore. They sat in relatively the same area as in History, but one noticeable difference was the skylight in the second classroom. While Satine extolled the virtues of laying down arms, the thin clouds parted to fill the room with glowing light. Satine shone in the center, her pale hair enflamed by the sunlight. Obi-Wan’s heart skipped a beat, then continued in double-time.

Oh.

Jango huffed, staring at the chrono over the door. Finally, it hit 11:45 and they were free for midmeal. He bounced up, swung his pack over his shoulder, and started down towards the door.

“Hey, Obi-Wan.” The redhead hummed acknowledgment and turned from his notes to look at him. “Would you like to eat lunch with Silas, Myles and I? We know all the best spots to get food.” 

Obi-Wan beamed at him. Kark, but that smile was going to kill him one day. “Of course, just give me a moment to pack my things.” 

On the other side of Obi-Wan, Kryze squinted at Jango. “You know, Obi-Wan, you could come to eat with me and my friends instead. There’s this delightful restaurant a few blocks away with food right from Coruscant, you’ll feel right at home.” She was getting on his nerves and she knew it. There was no other explanation for it. She was a complete non-combatant, there was no way she could have seen his deadly grace or his cunning in every situation. She couldn’t have noticed how he scanned for danger in every move, how he positioned himself to defend as many people as possible, or how he always stayed on his guard. And she hadn’t seen him with his guard down, his easy laugh, the way his eyes sparkled, how a twitch of the corner of his mouth was often the only indication of his mirth. There was so much she didn’t know about him, how could she be possessive of him already?

“It’s your choice,” he said, deciding to ignore her, “I was hoping to show you around the market, a little bit? So you know where to go if you need or want anything.” Please come with me. He pleaded silently.

“I’ll have to catch up with you later, then, Satine. I’ve heard stories of Mandalorian food, and I feel I must try it to believe it.” Jango pumped his fist internally, trying not to let his smugness show.

Ten minutes later, the four of them made their way to the small market at the edge of the ori’bajiya. Myles and Silas probably still thought he was a di’kut of epic proportions, but they had agreed to help him with his cya’kaanui. The rudimentary design of a kom’rk shield pressed against his heart as he showed Obi-Wan around his hometown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hides* I'm sorry? Poor Obi just wants something familiar right now, and Satine offers that. He's also blissfully unaware that he's basically Mandonip, so...
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Ori'bajiya = School district (I made this one up with help from the JangObi Discord: Big home of education)  
> Di'kut = Idiot (lit. someone who forgets to put on their pants)  
> Cya'kaanui = Courting gift (Made-up word from cyare = sweetheart/beloved, akaan = to fight (I hc that to fight along someone is what Mandos call dating), and dinui = gift)  
> Komr'k = Vambrace


	10. Skraan, Akaan, bal Burc'ya (Food, Fight, and Friend)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid heroes get their lunch, but not all Mandalorians are as welcoming as the royals...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late, I've been working on another fic for Secret Santa and this chapter DID NOT want to be written. Going forwards, chapters might be slower coming out because I'm a winter athlete and I need to focus on training. Rest assured, this story is not forgotten, it's still rattling around in my brain!!
> 
> I swear, I have no way of controlling this ball of spite and sass. Someone come pick him up, he's going to get himself killed.

“But you’ve already  **had** Mandalorian food? Last night I mean.” Myles, who had sat near Obi-Wan at the banquet spoke up, perplexed. “And I assume you ate firstmeal today, so why did you imply you had yet to taste it?” 

Obi-Wan hummed as they turned onto a street with food carts dotting the sides. “Perhaps, but I have yet to taste Mandalorian street food, which I hear is in a class unto its own. Besides,” he said with a smirk, “two meals do not an experience make.” Behind Obi-Wan’s back, Silas raised an eyebrow. 

As they wandered over to Old Mev’s Diner, Jango pointed out some of Keldabe’s features to Obi-Wan. “This area is mostly food vendors, school supply shops, arcades, and toy shops because we’re right outside the school district. There are a few armouries and forges, but those are further away.” They turned into the Diner, nodding to the few patrons already seated.

“Jan’ika, Myl’ika, Sil’ika! It’s good to see you again!” Mev was an old zabrak who had been making food on this street for as long as anyone could remember. To the ade of Keldabe, he might as well be older than the city itself. His kind gaze sharpened by a fraction as he caught sight of Obi-Wan. “And you must be the Jetii sent to Manda’yaim.” 

The redhead glanced at Jango. He nodded slightly to encourage him. “Yes, sir, my name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I got here yesterday.” He trailed off, as if unsure of what to say. 

Mev turned to the food counter. “Well, you don’t seem too bad, but I suppose we’ll see.” he gestured to Jango, Myles, and Silas. “You three, your regulars?” they nodded. “And you, Kenobi, what would you like to eat?” Mev gestured to the menu board. Obi-Wan frowned at the carved letters with confusion. His eyes flitted around the display, as if he did not know where to look. The realization hit Jango like a speeder.

“He hasn’t learned Mando’a yet, Mev. Obi-Wan,” the Jet’ika turned to him, “What I’m having, the rancor wrap, is kind of what we had last night, but wrapped in flatbread to make it easier to eat. Would you like to try that?” Once Obi-Wan nodded, Mev rang up their order and started making their food.

The four of them found a table and sat down, making light conversation. Jango wasn’t surprised at Obi-Wan’s confusion in their History class, it was no wonder that Jetii and Mando’ade taught different sides of history. That was, he pointed out, probably the point of Obi-Wan coming to Manda’yaim. To bridge the gap between Manda’yaim and the Republic. While they spoke, Mev brought them their food and they dug in, eating in comfortable silence. 

The bell tied to the door chimed to mark the entrance of a traat’aliit of verde, Clan Viszla, by their armour. One of them noticed Obi-Wan and nudged the others. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t one of those child-snatcher cowards hiding back on Coruscant. You think you’re safe, Kih’Jetti?” 

Jango’s veins pulsed with anger. How dare they belittle him? 

Obi-Wan put down his food with slow, precise motions. Every line of his body was tensed for a fight Jango was sure he didn’t want. “If you are going to insult my culture and the people who raised me, at least be original about it.” Nexu kit, indeed. Obi-Wan’s glare could have frozen Mustafar and his body was coiled with tension. He was holding himself back by the skin of his teeth. “Furthermore, it would behoove you to be accurate in your claims.” Jango started to laugh internally at the look on these verde’s faces. “As you can see, I am clearly,” he gestured to himself, then to the city outside the window, “not on Coruscant, nor am I hiding. Now, if all you came over here for was to make a sixteen-year-old feel bad about their existence or for a funny story to tell your squad, you may as well quit while you are ahead, for you will not succeed. Your taunts are pathetic, ill-planned, ill-thought-out, and ill-advised. 

“Have you ever heard the saying about Jedi Padawans? It’s very common throughout Hutt space, the Outer Rim, or any slaver rings?” at their hesitance, Obi-Wan leaned towards them and smiled. With all his teeth showing, it was an unsettling sight. “Never go after the Padawan unless you’re sure the Master is dead.” Obi-Wan enunciated each word slowly and leaned back into his chair. “And my Master has faced down far worse than  **you** to keep his Padawans safe.” His eyes flickered to Mev, who was ready with the verde’s order. “I believe your food is ready, so why don’t you just,” he flicked his hand out and to the side, “shoo?”

The verde left, grumbling the whole way. Jango’s heart beat in double time, thrumming against the designs hidden in his hal’kabur. He’d known that Obi-Wan had a fire in him, but seeing even a fragment of it in action was breathtaking. Obi-Wan’s chest heaved as he took deep, deliberately slow breaths. 

Silas broke the silence, “I guess the rumour about Jetii being emotionless is also banthapoodo?” Jango turned to glare at his friend but stopped once Obi-Wan snorted into his food.

“Yes and no. Short answer: we control our reactions to stay impartial. Long answer: we don’t have time for all the theology that goes into how we register and process emotions, but we can’t allow ourselves to react the way non-Force Sensitives react to their emotions. Practicing sabacc faces is a fun pass-time for us, although it got really competitive once we figured out how to send sound through our Force-bonds…” he drifted off, smiling at what must have been fond childhood memories. “One time, Quin and I amplified each other and blasted our Masters with the sound of a foghorn while they were in a High Council meeting, I still cherish the looks on their faces.” 

Myles frowned. “Were the two of you attending this meeting?” 

Obi-Wan laughed. “No.” 

Myles was utterly flabbergasted, so Silas took over. “Then how could you see the looks on their faces?” 

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. “Through the vents, of course. Where else?”

After they had finished their meal and said goodbye to Mev, they walked towards the gymnasium complex for their afternoon classes. Jango remembered what Coach told them last month and was struck by apprehension and anticipation in equal measure. Coach said they would be playing dodgeball and other team-oriented games this week.

Oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think!! I cherish every comment I get and try to reply to all of them! Send me some ideas too! I have an idea of where this story is going but I'm fully open to ideas!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> ade = children  
> Manda'yaim = the planet Mandalore  
> Verde = soldiers/warriors  
> Kih'jetii = little Jedi, but the use of kih' instead of 'ika removes the affection and (in this case) makes it derogatory  
> Hal'kabur = chestplate


	11. Am'kar'ta - Change of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaster reflects on Galidraan and has a rare moment of peace. It ends rather oddly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those waiting on an update, I'm sorry for being late, I was working on [Silver Tongue and Golden Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330326) as a Secret Santa for the Discord, Training's been kicking my ass, and a family member of mine passed away on Christmas Eve, so yeah. I know this chapter isn't super long, but Jaster had something to say, said it, and then left.  
> Hope you guys enjoy!

Lately, Jaster finished very few days satisfied with the work he had done. It wasn’t that he felt that he was failing as Mand’alor or that he felt  **un** productive, it’s just that, well, there was always so much to do. Ending the Clan War was easy, compared to the bureaucratic nightmare that followed. Not to mention the fallout from Galidraan. Oh, Galidraan. So many verde died there, so many families mourned. It had never sat well with Jaster, the involvement of the Jetiise. They had seemed so rushed, so frantic, so… unlike their reputation. His fury mounted now that he understood why. On the one hand, this meant that he and his verde were nothing more than a pitstop to the Jetiise, not even a full mission. The prideful part of him raged at the insinuation that his fighting wasn’t worth their time, but the logical side of his squashed that. There were six Jetiise who could attest to his martial prowess. Or rather, they couldn’t because of it. On the other hand, now he knew why they were rushed. A rescue mission, for one of their children. And Obi-Wan had been fighting alongside other children. At thirteen, he was one of the oldest. It made his blood boil. 

He heaved a sigh and turned back to the small locker his workout bag was stuffed in. He pulled the wrapping from within the worn canvas bag and slammed the locker door shut. He wrapped his hands as he walked into the gym and picked up one of the heavy duraweave bags to clip it to the low frame hanging from the ceiling. He nodded towards the other Chieftains who were setting up their respective workouts. His fists slammed into the bag, dull thuds racing up his arms. Every punch shattered the glass inside the thick bag into smaller and smaller pieces, until his hits landed in soft sand. Jaster unclipped the bag and heaved it onto the pile to be sent to the ade. He grabbed another bag from the ‘new’ pile and clipped it in. Over and over, his fists hit the thick duraweave, letting out his frustration and letting his thoughts quiet. 

The reason Jaster could be at the gym so early (shortly after midmeal, to be precise) was that the Ruling Council had, miraculously, gotten through everything on the agenda in record time. Nearly no complaints from citizens, no audience requests, and the Senate had  **finally** shut up about their apologies now that their scapegoat was fully in place. It was very clear to anyone with eyes that Obi-Wan Kenobi was a scapegoat. Even if he hadn’t been on Melidaan (Jaster’s fists hit harder with the memory of the horrific story from last night), Kenobi would have been far too young to be on Galidraan. But then, why him? The Senate was sending a message to the Jetii, but what was it? Could it be because he was the object of the rescue mission? Jaster doubted it, but the idea was the only one he had. At the very least, the Council had agreed to allow two Jetii into Keldabe so they could return the beskar’gam. There was a meeting with the Jetii council scheduled for tomorrow, where they would see if the grown-up Jetiise were amenable to the idea. 

A muted thunk drew him out of his reverie. He turned to the direction of the noise, still in a fighting stance.

“What the kark?” asked San Rook to the open air.

“More importantly,” replied Jaster, “ **how** the kark?” The object of their bewilderment was a boot print on a window. That alone would not have been enough to stupefy them, enough spars had put enough marks on the gym for it to be normal. The thing was, this bootprint was  **on the other side** of the glass. This window, in particular, was a favourite, as it overlooked the gymnasium used by the schools. They could see their ade playing, learning physical skills, learning to dance, or just goofing off. However, this window was three stories up. There was no logical reason for there to be a  **boot print** on the other side of the glass. A beige shape soared up to perch on the windowsill, and Obi-Wan Karking Kenobi waved cheerily at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me guys what you think! Questions are always welcome, and I try to answer them all!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Mand'alor = One true leader of Mandalore  
> verde = soldiers/warriors/fighters  
> ade = children


	12. Arpat be Am - Seeds of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The promised and long-awaited dodgeball chapter!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will start to cover longer stretches of time soon, but there's one more after this. 13 chapters to cover 24 hours. I almost can't believe it, and I wrote it!

Jango was torn between glee, horror, and awe. Glee because Obi-Wan was coming out of his shell and making Jango wish he was available for courtship (his Verd’goten couldn’t come soon enough), horror because Obi-Wan was nearly single-handedly decimating Jango’s team, and awe because, well. He was nearly single-handedly decimating Jango’s team at dodgeball. Said Jet’ika was currently perched on the ledge of one of the observation windows with a small cloud of foam balls floating around his head. Every once in a while, he’d grab one out of the air and throw it with deadly accuracy at one of Jango’s teammates, sending them to the sidelines. Jango ducked behind one of the mats set up as pseudo-trenches just in time for Obi-Wan’s latest throw to hit the mat instead of him. He sat for a moment, catching his breath and collecting his thoughts.

Obi-Wan wasn’t  **technically** breaking the rules (No using the Force to deflect or aim a ball), but they needed better rules if he was going to keep playing like this. Usually, in cases like this, the modus operandi was to hoard the balls so the opposing team could no longer fire and then bombard the opposing team. Thanks to Obi-Wan, that was no longer an option. The Jet’ika simply summoned the balls back to himself after every hit and Jango’s team had dwindled to just him and Silas.

“Well, vod, I guess this is the end for us,” Silas said in a dramatic voice. “We shall march away and join the Manda, our souls shall be welcomed into the arms of our clans, to forever scout the path for Mando’ade and to - ugh!” Jango whipped his ball at Silas’s center mass and sighed with resignation as Obi-Wan’s latest snipe hit him ever-so-gently on the nose. The other team roared with cheers and laughter as Coach called the game to a close. The intercom crackled on and Jango could hear Jas’Buir trying to hold back his laughter.

“O Alor'ad! Ni'Alor'ad! Our forceful fight is done, The verde have weathered every salvo, the prize we sought is won, The end is near, the bells I hear, the adate all exulting,” Jango groaned as his father cackled his way through the ancient poem. Jango looked up at Obi-Wan, who had his head thrown back in laughter. He waved at the window, presumably at Jas’Buir (and had the council meeting been  **that** short?) and jumped off the ledge, did a backflip, and landed in a crouch. He ran a hand through his short, red hair, spiky with sweat and let out a cheer as his team surrounded him. Damn, this was getting out of hand.

The sun was starting to set when they made it back to their rooms, Obi-Wan carrying two bags full of new clothing. Their bellies full of food from the kiosks along the streets, Jango and Obi-Wan bid each other goodnight and parted ways in front of the Jet’ika’s door. As usual, Jango followed Jas’Buir into their sitting room for their end-of-day debrief. Jas’buir sat down with a sigh, glancing at Jango like he wanted to say something, but was unsure of where to start.

“Me’vaar ti gar, Buir?” Jango asked, hoping to clear the air. 

Jas’Buir sighed again.“I’m worried about Kenobi.” Jango startled at the curt answer. “Not just the fact that he’s here, in Keldabe, but everyone I’ve spoken to today has nothing but good to say about him. And then there’s you. Twenty-four hours ago, you hated his guts and now,” Jas’Buir cut himself off, his voice thick with emotion. “Now you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, ad’ika. That worries me.” 

Jango flushed at the realization that, yes, he was moving very quickly with the cya’kaanui. “Buir, he’s not influencing my mind.” a raised eyebrow was the only reply. “If he was the cause of my --” Jango stumbled a bit before continuing, “-- interest, then he would be more receptive or he would have at least been aware of the hints I was trying to drop.” 

Jas’Buir’s mouth twitched into a slanted smile. “Hints, Jan’ika? What did you do?” 

Jango groaned. “I offered to tutor him in Mando’a, then I asked him to lunch with Myles, Silas, and I, and I know he doesn’t know what that kind of play-fighting means to us, but Buir, you saw him in the gym, right?” Intellectually, Jango knew he was being whiney, but it could be excused, right? Not even an hour before, Obi-Wan was all but proposing to him, showing off the way he did. The winks, the two-fingered salutes, the  **kriffing tap on the nose.** It was enough to drive a lesser man insane. Thankfully, Jango thought, he wasn’t quite a man yet and was therefore insane anyway.

“Lunch can be written off, his behaviour in the gym, you’re right, he couldn’t have known what that level and that type of play-fighting means to us. But Mando’a, Jango? You may as well be giving him a soul!” Jas’Buir was wringing his hands, uncharacteristically nervous.

“Maybe, Buir. But we’re Mando’ade and he’s a Foundling who’s…” he drifted off, trying to put into words just  **what** pushed him to offer his language to Obi-Wan. “He’s just a Foundling who was never lost, that’s all.” Jango saw his Buir tense and made the split-second decision to change the topic. “Your meeting ended quickly, did the proposal for the Jetiise returning the beskar go through?” 

Buir brightened up at the reminder of his abnormally smooth day. “Surprisingly, yes. We’re discussing it with the Jetii Council tomorrow. Now, bring Obi-Wan to our dining room, please. I have some questions for him.” 

“Lek, Buir.”

Obi-Wan had just finished putting all his new clothes away when someone knocked on his door. He opened the door to see Jango standing in the hallway, a slight flush darkening his face.

“Buir wants to talk to you, probably about your idea of returning beskar, from this morning. He’s just down this way.” Obi-Wan sent a small pulse out into the Force to check for danger. Once it echoed back to him with no hint of ill-will, he fell into step behind Jango. The other teen brought them to the room where they ate breakfast and invited him to sit down. 

Jas’lor had already been seated when they walked in and was now looking at him with a mix of worry and steel in his eyes. “Obi-Wan, why did the Senate send you?” He put up a hand when Obi-Wan opened his mouth, a frown tugging at his brows. “I mean you in particular. They could have sent any Jet’ika, why were  **you** chosen?” 

Obi-Wan winced internally. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun...  
> Jaster is missing some puzzle pieces and doesn't like it!  
> Clarification on the scene between Jango and Jaster: Jaster is afraid that Obi-Wan mind-tricked some people, including Jango. He's afraid that Obi-Wan will try to use Jango against him or something along those lines. That's not what's going on, he's just a Dad in an odd situation.
> 
> the translation for O Captain, my Captain came from the delightful [ehcanuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehcanuck/pseuds/ehcanuck)!!
> 
> Mando'a:
> 
> Jet'ika = little Jedi  
> Vod = brother/sister/sibling/companion/partner  
> Manda = afterlife/soul of Mandalore  
> Alor'ad = captain  
> Verd = soldier/warrior/fighter  
> Adate = people/persons  
> Me’vaar ti gar, Buir? = What's up, Dad?  
> Cya'kaanui = courting gift  
> Mando'ade = Mandalorians, children of the Manda


	13. Kadaliir Haat - Wounding Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explanation that might derail all the progress made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Drops the chapter and runs*

Jango saw the precise second Obi-Wan understood Jas’Buir’s words. All the blood drained from his face and he put his hands together inside of the big sleeves of his tunic. It would be endearing, Jango thought, were Obi-Wan not so scared. The Jet’ika licked his lips before opening his mouth to reply. He tried to speak multiple times but stopped himself before the words could leave his mouth. 

Finally, he sighed. “The Senate sent me here as a message. For one, it’s very easy to blame the tragedy at Galidraan on the Jedi’s haste to complete their rescue mission. My rescue mission. The Senate has and is making it very clear that the ruse is up and that there will be no more rescue missions. Any Jedi who falls behind will be left behind.” Jango took note of the strain in Obi-Wan’s jaw and wished there was a way to comfort the Padawan. “The second reason,” Obi-Wan said carefully, “is a bit more personal.” 

Jas’Buir snorted. “How can it get more personal than that?” he asked, incredulous. Jango nodded to the sentiment. 

Obi-Wan winced again. “My Grandmaster,” their confusion must have been plain on their faces because Obi-Wan elaborated, “the man who trained my Master, in familial terms, he is my Grandfather.” Obi-Wan swallowed. “He was on Galidraan. He was at the thick of it, he-” Obi-Wan broke off muttering while tugging on his braid before steeling himself and looking Jas’Buir in the eye. “My Grandmaster is Yan Dooku.”

Jango’s thoughts screeched to a halt. Dooku. The monster under Mandalore’s bed for the last three years. Obi-Wan’s Ba’Buir? But that made no sense, Obi-Wan had seemed so earnest, so thoughtful, his smiles, the flashes of his fiery soul so  **genuine** … Jango slammed down that train of thought. No. If he’d been raised by that man, who still gave Buir nightmares… could he be playing a long con? Hurt pierced through his heart like a beskad. Was everything false? He went over every interaction with Obi-Wan in his mind, only distantly aware of Jas’Buir and Obi-wan (Kenobi, his mind howled. Not Obi-Wan, not with this lie) what was he  **thinking** , a cya’kaanui with a Jetii? 

Tears forming in his eyes, Jango growled out something about seeing them in the morning and stomped to his room. He took off his armour quickly, only just stopping himself from throwing the precious beskar. He yanked his sleepwear on through shaky breaths. His mind kept going over Obi-no, Kenobi’s words. Dooku. Grandmaster. Grandfather. The words rolled around in his head like thunder. 

He was shocked out of his thoughts when he heard his Buir yell, “He killed over a dozen of my verde! How can you defend him?!” 

Jango, not in the mood to listen to a shouted argument, pulled his pillow over his head to drown out the noise. It didn’t work.

"Tell me you wouldn't have done the same! Look me in the eyes, Mand'alor, and tell me you wouldn't have done the same if it were Jango stranded on the planet! Tell me you wouldn’t have moved the stars themselves to get to him and get him safe! Can you honestly tell me that?!" 

"You know I can't." Jango barely heard Jas’Buir, then wished he hadn’t. Jas’Buir rarely sounded so… defeated, lost.

"Then do not judge my Grandmaster for doing everything he could to save my life,” Obi-Wan said, softer. “Fault him for the lives he took? fine. Fault him for not spending longer looking at the intel? Fine. But do not presume that he left the Temple that day with the intent to kill you and yours."

Jango rolled over and blocked out the sound from the waking world. After some time, he fell into a fitful sleep.

Jango woke to screams. He bolted upright, disoriented. He jumped off his bed and into the hallway, where the screams were coming from. Jas’Buir and a pair of guards were sprinting towards him, but that didn’t make sense, he wasn’t the one screaming, so that meant- he jerked his head to Kenobi’s door, where the screams had cut off. Jas’Buir palmed the door open urgently. The four of them surged through the door, looking for attackers. The only person they found was Kenobi, ramrod straight on the bed, staring at them with terror in his eyes. It was odd, Jango thought disjointedly. Kenobi was looking at them as if he was seeing them, just not seeing  **them** . 

His eyes looked onto the armour of the guards and Jas’Buir’s half-donned plate and he let out a whimper. “Please, no, no, please, don’t- no!” Kenobi kept spewing half-complete mutterings while his eyes darted to and fro like a cornered animal.

“Kenobi?” Jas’Buir slowly started walking towards Kenobi, arms outstretched to show his hands. “What’s going on? What don’t you want us to do, ad’ika?” Kenobi buried his head between his knees and started to rock back and forth.

“You killed them.” Jango’s blood ran cold. Could Kenobi be talking about Galidraan?! The nerve- “or, will kill them? Are killing them? I don’t  **know** !” Kenobi’s words turned into a moan of pain. “But you can’t have killed them, because, because, I-I can feel them. If I can feel them, then tha- then that means that this was a vision. Which m-means it hasn’t happened yet, they’re not dead, oh Force-” Kenobi cut himself off and sprung up, before darting to the refresher. The door closed behind him, the lock clicking. 

Jas’Buir dismissed the two guards and came over to Jango. “Are you alright, Jan’ika?” he asked, concern etched into his face.

“I don’t know,” Jango replied, “it’s…” he paused to think of the word, then winced at the tell-tale sound of retching coming from the refresher. “Complicated.” They heard the tap come on, then turn off. 

Kenobi came back out into the room, wincing. “I… apologize for waking you, Jango. I have no control over this. And I apologize to you, Mand’alor,” he bowed to Jas’Buir, “for the accusations. It can be difficult, after strong visions, to make time linear again in my head. I meant no offence.” Kenobi kept his eyes on the ground. 

Jas’Buir sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Apologies accepted, Kenobi, but,” he waved a hand at the Jet’ika, “what  **was** that?” 

Kenobi wrung his hands. “That was the aftermath of a vision. A bad one. I’ll, I’ll try to explain as best I can without diving into Jedi theology. The future is uncertain. Every action, every choice made by every creature, every moment, of every day, on every planet in the universe, affects the future.” Kenobi rocked back on his heels and he stared resolutely at the wall behind their heads. “Because of where my strengths in the Force lie, I am very… attuned to possible futures. The Force has been sending me visions for as long as I can remember, possibilities of things yet to come. I’ve had some that came true, some that didn’t. I always know the moment a vision is no longer a possibility and I always know when one has come to pass. The more likely a possibility, the longer and more in-depth a vision.” His hands started fidgeting. “This one was… bad. And very detailed.” 

He gulped and flicked his eyes between the two of them. “Please don’t ask me to explain what I saw, not now, please. It’s too fresh, and I have to get ready for class, and I have to be alright for class, and I have to calm down-” He turned sharply on his heel and started forcing himself to breathe deeply. “I don’t think firstmeal is a good idea today, I’ll eat a larger midmeal to make up for it. When do you want to meet at the speeder, Jango?” 

In shock at the onslaught of information, Jango replied, “thirty minutes?” Kenobi nodded and walked over to his dresser to get his clothes out. Jas’Buir tugged on his arm, and the two of them walked out of Kenobi’s room in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides* Haha, it'll get better? I promise?
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Verde = soldiers/warriors/fighters  
> Ad'ika = child/kid


	14. Rumour Has It - Cuy'jorhaa Eyayah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumours only grow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha, these comments are SENDING ME!!! I love and cherish every single one of them!!
> 
> When I said it'd get better, I meant the chapter after this!

Jango stared at the skylane resolutely. He drove carefully, of course, but he could be forgiven for being a little tense. Next to him, Kenobi sat in the speeder with his head down. The Jetii hadn’t spoken a word to him since the… incident earlier that morning. Jango’s hurt aside, the other teen didn’t look too good, pale and unsteady. Jango’s brows scrunched up in concentration. Was he right to stay angry at Obi-Wan? Yes, the deception hurt, but was it a deception? Obi-Wan had only been here for a day and it was something he was afraid to share, but that had hurt  **so much** to hear! But, Obi-Wan seemed to be so very hurt, Jango’s heart ached to comfort him while still screaming in pain at his betrayal. Jango glanced over at Kenobi and saw the minute flinch in the Jetii’s frame. No, it was best to let him be, for the moment. 

It didn’t surprise him that they were later than usual, what with the excitement that morning. He was disappointed when Kenobi made to sit with Kryze and her lot, but he supposed it made sense after this morning. Kenobi had flinched at armour after all. Still, it stung. One blow after another to his heart, it seemed. 

Myles frowned at him, sensing something to be off. “Who spat in your caf, vod?” 

When he didn’t respond, Silas leant forward and said, “Did something happen with Obi-Wan?” 

Jango sighed. He had to tell them, they were his most trusted vode, his best friends. But not here. Not when there were so many listening ears. Not for a tale that was not his to tell. “I’ll tell you at midmeal. Not here.” 

They accepted his answer easily and turned to face the front of the class when Ruus’baji called (roared, really) for their attention.

As their classes drew to a close, Jango looked around the room. Kryze was already dragging Kenobi off to whatever upscale establishment she deemed worthy of her time and he went along with her without a fuss. Fitting, he thought. He, Myles, and Silas made their way to a street vendor, bought some kelbab’s, and settled in the park. There were only a few people around, so Jango judged it safe. 

Once he nodded, Silas cleared his throat. “You said you’d tell us at lunch, so spill. What’s got you all worked up?” 

Jango took a bite and considered his reply as he chewed. In the end, he decided to do as Kenobi did and rip off the bacta patch. “Kenobi is Dooku’s Bu’ad.” The other two flinched back in astonishment. They ate as they considered their responses, watching the world around them. A jogger in greaves, kom’rke, and buy’ce stumbled over a root as they passed the three of them. 

“I feel for him, then,” said Myles. “He’s been sent here to send a message, and this might as well be a death threat to him. Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la, right?” They hummed their agreements. Myles’s rationality soothed some of the hurt edges to Jango’s heart.

“This doesn’t go further than the three of us, alright?” Jango said. “I’m telling you this because I trust you, but if word got out…” They swore their agreement. Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it. Truth, Honour, Vision. They wouldn’t tell a soul.

Unfortunately, The jogger was an unplanned variable. And it only takes a spark to light a fire…

“The Jetii, who landed two days ago? He’s Dooku’s Bu’ad, I heard Fett himself say so!”

“I’m telling you, it’s true! Dooku’s Bu’ad is the Jetii on Manda’yaim!”

“The Jetii is Dooku’s Bu’ad, did you hear?”

“I heard the Jetii is related to Dooku, do you think the Demagolka trained him to kill us?”

“Dooku sent his Bu’ad here to kill us all!”

“The Jetiise are trying to take over!”

“Dooku sent his Bu’ad to kill the Mand’alor, it’s the only explanation!”

“I bet his Ba’buir taught him how to kill us.”

“I bet he’s already got a plan to kill the Mand’Al’Ad!”

“They sleep across the hall from each other! My vod is a palace guard, she told me so!”

“A Jetii, Dooku’s Bu’ad at that, taking the Verd’goten? It’s a disgrace!”

“What was the Mand’alor thinking, bring the Bu’ad of the  **monster** here?!”

“If Dooku raised him, he’s little more than a monster himself!

“There needs to be a way to put an end to this!”

In a cantina, in Kih’Keldabe, on Coruscant, there was a Mando’ad in black and gold armour. Their helmet was on their head. On their HUD, they watched as messages from Manda’yaim flooded in about the kih’Jetii. The leather of their gloves creaked from the tightness of their grip. They turned their head to look out the window. On a billboard, above the streets, a broadcaster was announcing the Senate scandal of the week. In the background, the Jetii Temple stood proud and defiant, guarding its monsters like an egg waiting to be cracked. The Mando’ad stood from their table. They had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A game of telephone gone awry, am I right?  
> Come yell at me all you want, it fuels my writing!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Vod = sibling/partner/close friend  
> Kelbabs = not actually Mando'a, but my play of Keldabe Kebabs  
> Bu'ad = Grandchild  
> Ba'buir = Grandparent  
> Kom'rk'e = gauntlets  
> Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la = Nobody cares who your parent was, only the kind of parent you will be (Mando'a proverb)


	15. She's The One I'm Leaving You For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to look up for Obi-Wan!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first people to guess one or both of the easter eggs hidden in the chapter titles will get a shoutout next chapter!  
> (Also, two updates in one day? who am I and what have I done with myself!)

Obi-Wan’s head throbbed through their two lessons. His hands took notes without his mind processing them. Flashes of his vision flared up with decreasing intensity as the day wore on, but he was still left exhausted. The Vision, as Quin had dubbed it, had started as a few flashes two years ago and had been growing ever since. What had first been flashes of blasterfire, the sound of lightsabers, and the dim glow of blood in front of a setting sun had grown into a despairingly clear sequence he could pause at any time, like a holovideo. On the upside, he didn’t have to see it all at once. On the downside, he only ever woke once he had seen the entire vision. It grew clearer every time. 

The last time the Vision had hit him, he’d been able to identify the Jedi as they fell. This time, he was able to identify the attackers as they came. Mand’alor Mereel, at the head of wave after wave of Mandalorians. 

He shook his head to clear it of lingering Force-touched images. Satine and her quiet Force-signature had been a balm to him this morning, none of the mental edges or physical armours of the other Mandalorians. Nothing to remind him of the ever-more-likely future. She was so kind to him, accepting his excuse of a bad night of sleep (not a lie, even) and comforting him how she could. He was lucky she considered him a friend. 

As he’d promised the Mand’alor, he ate a larger lunch than usual at the core-themed restaurant Satine took him to. It was… nice, just the two of them, reminiscing about Coruscant and their favourite spots. It turned out that they had gone to the same concert four years ago and had been less than a kilometre apart. Satine laughed when he told her so.

“I suppose some things are simply meant to be, my darling.” His heart fluttered at the pet name. “I do count myself lucky to know you, Obi-Wan. I am sure that, had we not met here, we would have met somewhere else, sometime else. You’re the kind of person I’d like to have by my side during my life, Obi-Wan.” He flushed at her words. 

He decided to take a risk and said, “I’d like to have you by my side too, Satine.” He reached across the table to take her hand in his. “I’d like that very much.” What was there not to like? She was kind, intelligent, beautiful - his flush deepened as he realized that yes, she was beautiful to him. Her hair caught the sunlight like a halo, bathing her in an ethereal light. Slowly, she lifted their joined hands and kissed his knuckles, all while keeping him entranced in her gaze. It was an unmistakably core-world signal of romantic intent. 

“I don’t believe,” he said in a rough voice, “that there was anything in my mission briefing that forbade me from dating locals?” 

She laughed, the sound as clear as bells. “The only possible contest to our relationship is the fact that you haven’t passed your,” her mouth twisted around the Mando’a word, “Verd’goten yet. As such you are not  **technically** of age yet. But, it is an outdated custom. My mentor, Foreign Minister Almec, says that he is working on diminishing its importance and value in our society. It shan’t be an issue for us.” He blushed as she kissed his knuckles again.

Satine paid for their food and took him out to the glass-walled mall where all the core-world amenities were located. They wandered the kiosks, fingers intertwined. Obi-Wan was surprised to learn that Republic credits were accepted in this part of Keldabe, and instantly thought to buy a gift for Satine. They had already declared intent, once they had exchanged gifts, they would be a couple. When he announced his intentions, Satine giggled and lit up like a thousand suns. She agreed readily and they split off in different directions.

Quin appeared next to him while he was looking through some necklaces and whistled lowly. “Am I reading your Force signature wrong or are you picking out a date-starter?” 

Obi-Wan blushed. “The latter, Quin. Satine…” he drifted off at the memory of her lips on his knuckles, the two (  **two!!** ) times she had done it. 

Quin snapped him out of his reverie with a guffaw. “Ah, so the lady asked you out, did she?” Quin laughed freely for a moment. “Wait a minute,” he said, “what about Jango?” 

Obi-Wan’s mood soured instantly. The shady looks thrown his way, Jango’s skittishness around him, the way he tried to leave Obi-Wan’s presence as soon as possible… no. There was nothing there. And there would be nothing, now that Satine was in his life. “What about him?” 

Quin startled. “Well, the two of you seemed to be getting close, last I saw. Did something happen?” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said curtly. “Mand’alor Mereel and Jango found out about Grandmaster.” Quin inhaled sharply. “Indeed. Now, I’m stuck between these two…” they spent fifteen minutes looking over his choices before selecting a simple silver necklace. It was discreet, but so were they. The front of the necklace was made of small flowers, lilies, that linked together to form a strong chain. It would stand the test of time, just like they would. 

“This is it, Quin.” His heart hammered its way into his throat. “This is my date-starter.” 

Quinlan hugged him from behind, love and support flooding through the bond. “I’ll leave you to it, then. This bit is between you and her. But wait a few years before mini Kenobi’s yeah?” Quin cackled as Obi-Wan pushed his presence away forcefully. 

In a matter of moments, he was alone again. No, not alone, the weight in his hands reminded him. He had Satine now. He went up to the counter and paid, thanking the Force that his Republic credit chit went through. With his date-starter in hand, he searched for Satine’s presence in the Force. He smiled when he found her and walked over to where she was.

“For you, milady.” He said dramatically, offering her the necklace. 

She giggled and turned around, lifting her hair so he could put the necklace on her. “Oh, Obi-Wan, it’s so beautiful! Do you- do you know what these flowers mean?” He shook his head no, enamoured by her excitement. “They are Mandalorian lilies, they can only grow where the soil is undisturbed for five years. As such, they stand for peace. They cannot grow in war but prosper through all else. As we shall, my dear.” 

He smiled, helpless in the face of her joy. “I suppose it’s the will of the Force, then, that I found it for our date-starter.” 

She hummed at him as she rummaged inside her purse. “And here’s my gift to you! It’s a bead, for your braid. So you’ll have a reminder of us on you at all times.” 

Obi-Wan’s smile faded. His braid, that was sacred, the bond between him and his Master, a sign of his path as a Jedi. He said as much and her laugh tinkled through the air again. 

“Just on the end, then,” she said, “for our start.” Obi-Wan wanted to protest, wanted to push for another way to accept her gift. A leather cord, perhaps? For his neck or wrist? But he felt himself fold in the face of her smile. Alright, he thought, for her. 

When she reached to undo his braid, though, he grabbed her wrist gently. “Ah, Satine? It’s best if I do that. As I said, it’s sacred. Since I’m adding something that technically doesn’t go there, it’s best if I do it. Only Master Qui-Gon and I are supposed to do or undo it, anyways.” 

“Oh, alright, my dear. I only wish I could have started our relationship myself.” 

Obi-Wan, desperate for her not to be saddened by him, lifted her chin on his finger. “Darling, you did that when you kissed my hand. All this,” he gestured to his bead, her necklace, and them, “is because of you. Don’t doubt that, Darling.”

Using the Force to keep the strands of hair together, he undid the tie at the end of his braid. He took the bead from Satine’s hand, a tiny glass marble with an even tinier lily painted on the outside. He threaded the end of his hair through it and tied his braid off again. The new weight settled on his shoulder, a permanent reminder of his new girlfriend. Hand in hand, they walked to the gymnasium with a spring in their step. While admiring Satine, Obi-Wan realized that his vision no longer troubled him so. Of course, his usual acrobatics were out of the question today, but still. There was something to be said about simple happiness. 

Had he been listening to the Force more attentively, he would have known that it would not last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised Obi-Wan would be happy, didn't I? look how happy our boy is!!
> 
> No new Mando'a this time...  
> (I wonder why?)
> 
> (This is also quite possibly my longest chapter ever!)


	16. Actions Have Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The distance from other Jedi is starting to take its toll on Obi-Wan, how hard will Mandalore push before he breaks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remind me, how does Newton's Third Law go, again?

“Hey, Kenobi!” Obi-Wan ducked behind a foam wall and turned to face the speaker, a blonde Mandalorian on his team. “No death-defying stunts today?” Obi-Wan laughed before levitating a pile of balls towards him. 

“No, not today,” he said, lobbing half the balls over to the other teen. “Didn’t sleep too well last night.” he closed his eyes, sank into the Force and threw his first ball over the wall without turning around. He grinned at the sound of impact and grunt of disappointment.

“Good shot!” The teen peeked over the wall and fired off a ball as well. “Call me Pre, he/him. Want to buddy up?” 

Obi-Wan grinned. A team-up would do him some good right about now. “Gladly! And call me Obi-Wan while you’re at it!” Together they fired off ball after ball until the end of the game.

Coming out of the locker rooms, someone knocked into Obi-Wan, pushing him off balance.

“Out of my way,  **Dooku** ,” they said. Fear gripped Obi-Wan’s heart. They couldn’t know, there was no way for them to know, he only told Jas’lor and…. And  **Jango.** Storming off to find Jango, Obi-Wan found him talking to Myles and Silas by his speeder. Anger and fear mixed to make a choking wave of emotion as Obi-Wan crowded into Jango’s space.

“Who did you tell.” It wasn’t a question, Jango  **had** to have told someone.

“What?” 

Oh, Obi-Wan was not in the mood for games. “I’m not playing around, Fett, who did you tell?!” 

“Who did I tell  **what** ?” Asked Jango.

Was he being serious? 

“About my  **Grandmaster** , Fett, about the reasons I’m here. Who. Did. You. Tell.” He didn’t care that a crowd was forming or that this might blow up later, he was  **angry** . 

“Only Silas and Myles, because I trust them with everything and they  **swore** not to tell! But that’s it, no one else!” Jango seemed to be confused, so he was either a very good actor or genuine. “Why is this important?” And any empathy had gone out the window.

“It is  **important** ,” Obi-Wan seethed, “because someone just knocked into me and called me Dooku. Do you have any idea what you might have done? You may have signed my death warrant, and perhaps even that of the entire Jedi Order!!” He was yelling now, but he didn’t care. Flashes from The Vision came rushing back: the bodies, the smoke, his home in ruins. 

Jango startled. “Well, that might be an exaggeration-” 

Obi-Wan cut him off with a barked laugh. “Exaggeration, he says! Do you want to know why I woke up screaming? What vision could possibly scare me that badly?” The crowd was getting thicker, he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not with the little bodies in little robes, the creche drenched in blood- “I See the temple burning. At least twice a tenday, every tenday, I See my home in flames! I See waves of people attacking the Temple, slaughtering the inhabitants! See my family dying! I See the death of my home, my family and my culture!” 

The crowd was getting agitated. Obi-Wan wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. In his mind, he saw Fee, Xani, Master Qui-Gon, Quin, Bant, Benji, Bruck, everyone else, their bodies lying broken a hundred different ways. “And last night,” he choked on a sob. “Last night I Saw the attackers clearly for the first time. I Saw wave after wave of armoured Mandalorians flying around the Temple. I Saw Mandalorians torching the Room of a Thousand Fountains. I Saw a mythosaur skull drawn in blood in the Great Hall!” Jango’s face drained of blood with every sentence. Obi-Wan put his face in his hands and took deep breaths. His chest tightened. In, out. In, out. When he felt he could continue, he did so. “The clearer a vision, the more likely it is to happen. By telling anyone, anywhere, where someone could overhear you, you may have condemned me and nearly everyone I love to death. Don’t bother driving me back, I know the way.” It would exhaust him, he knew, to Force-jump his way back, but the alternative was spending twenty minutes in speeder with Jango. He’d take the strain.

Obi-Wan turned away from Jango and looked out. The teens crowded around them did their best not to look him in the eye. He scoffed and, seeing that they wouldn’t make way for him, he launched himself up to grab the ledge of the second-storey window, pushed off, and landed on the roof of the building next door. Heart pounding, lungs clenching, Obi-Wan took off running, jumping from one roof to another, using the Force to launch himself across the gaps. He found his room with the Force, following the small imprint of his Force-signature, and sank into moving meditation. He pushed himself to go faster, to get to the room sooner, to leave the gazes he felt on him. Surprise, followed by amusement, annoyance, or anger permeated the Force, but he ignored it. He was already unbalanced as it was.

Of all the things Jaster expected on this sunny day, the Jetii Council calling his council back an hour after their call ended was not in the top ten. It wasn’t even on the list. Yet, here they were. The bald Korun Jetii had opened the second call with a sigh and an apology for taking up their time.

“Mand’alor, do you know how Obi-Wan’s lineage got leaked to the public?” Jango was  **so** grounded when he got home. 

“My son probably told his friends, I trust the three of them not to blab, but opsec is not yet something Jango has perfected. I’ll talk to him when he gets home.” Jaster said.

“Sir, I’m not sure you understand. We’ve been receiving death threats for hours, over half of which include Mando’a. This is becoming a credible threat.” The Jetii said. Murmurs spread through his Council hall. 

Aden’tra frowned next to him and turned to him. “Jast’ika, what’s going on?” 

Jaster sighed in tandem with the Korun Jetii, Windu, his name was. Some part of his mind laughed.

“Obi-Wan is the Grandpadawan of Yan Dooku. In non-Jedi terms, Obi-Wan is his grandson. It’s the reason the Senate selected him for this mission, even though there were plenty of other padawans who fit your requirements. We didn’t disclose his lineage history for his safety.” Windu rubbed a hand down his face. The other Councillors were muttering amongst themselves, getting agitated. Dral Gotab, in particular, was sitting with his face in his hands. 

“This mission would have been dangerous enough for him  **without** an added target on his back. The Senate forced us to promote him to Senior Padawan - he was still a year or so away from that - because Junior Padawans aren’t eligible for solo missions. Part of his education was rushed so that we could try and prepare him for this, but Sir-” Windu inhaled sharply. Tears gathered in his eyes and the other Jetiise on the call were showing similar signs of distress. “We are at the point where we can no longer protect our children if they go outside our walls alone. We can’t protect Obi-Wan, who we watched grow, we can’t-” again he cut himself off, wrestling his emotions back under the “serene Jedi” face. The buire in his council, Jaster included, intimately understood that particular tug on the heartstrings. To not be able to protect their own children... “Protect him, Mand’alor. We will beg if we have to. Keep our child safe. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Procrastination, thy name is Fives. How did I get 3 chapters out in 2 days? I have no kriffing clue.
> 
> Mando'a:  
> 'lor = made up "sir/ma'am"  
> Jetii = Jedi  
> Jetiise = Jedi (plural)  
> Buire = parents


	17. A Charred Bridge Is Not A Burnt One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, all it takes for a bad day to end well is a friendly face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said it was getting better? I'm genuinely using that hurt/comfort tag for more than the hurt, now!

Had he been feeling any better, Obi-Wan would have laughed at Jas’lor’s face. The man was in the Entrance Hall of the palace, speaking with Cabur Dral (If Obi-Wan still had permission to call him that) and a few other Councillors when Obi-Wan vaulted in through the window. All five of them spun around, weapons out and ready for a fight. Jas’lor registered him, then the window, twenty meters up from the floor and a kilometre up from the ground.

“Karking Jetiise,” Jas’lor said, exasperated. When Obi-Wan approached, Cabur Dral made to leave. 

They can’t go, Obi-Wan thought, not before I’ve explained. “Cabur Dral, a moment, please?” Obi-Wan searched in his mind. Cabur Dral had taught him how to say “please” in Mando’a, what was it, what was it, what was it- “Gedet’ye.” 

The nautolan stopped in their tracks. “Ob’ika,” Obi-Wan winced at the level of pain in their voice. “When were you going to tell me?” 

Obi-Wan stared at the floor. “When I felt sure I wouldn’t die for it, Cabur. I don’t think you would have killed me, but I’ve Seen others do it.” 

Cabur Dral crossed their arms. “How can you have seen people kill you?” ah, yes. The joys of explaining his death-dreams to non-Jedi. “You’re standing in front of me, aren’t you?”

“Visions, Cabur. I watch people die almost every night.” Realizing they had gone off-topic, Obi-Wan faced his… mentor? and bowed. “I am sorry for concealing the truth, Cabur. Especially when I knew it could hurt you.” He rose out of his bow. 

“Ob’ika,” Cabur Dral sighed, “the apology is not yours to give. You were a child, mine was an adult. She was a warrior in her own right and Dooku, as we now know, was fighting to get to you,” their hand came up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek, “his bu’ad. I don’t forgive him. I may never forgive him. I will certainly never forget it. But I  **understand** him, Ob’ika. I am hurt that you hid the truth, but that’s my issue, not yours. I understand why you did it and I’m not upset with you. Does that make sense?” 

After the ups and downs of the day, The Vision, Satine, their date-starter, his confrontation with Jango, the run back to the palace, and now this  **kindness** , Obi-Wan was overwhelmed. His eyes shone with unshed tears and his breath became uneven. Cabur Dral opened his arms, almost a mirror image to two nights before, and enveloped Obi-Wan in a hug. Tears started to fall in the face of the genuine, warm, open kindness surrounding him. The tears fell until there were none left in his body.

When his tears dried, Cabur Dral held him in their arms a while longer. “Is there anything you need, ad?” 

Lifting his head from their chest Obi-Wan nodded. “Jas’lor said, well, he said that I could call home once a week? Could I? I know it’ll be monitored, but I need to talk to my family, gedet’ye.” 

Cabur Dral murmured his assent and sent a text comm to Jas’lor. “We’ll do it in the Council Hall, ad, there’s a nice, big, holotable there. You’ll have a great view and the call will be stable. That’ll be nice, right Ob’ika?” Obi-Wan nodded. Cabur Dral walked him into the Hall and sat him down in one of the chairs, murmuring to him all the while. “It’ll do you good to talk to your family, Obi’ka, you talk about them so fondly. The Jetiise are a family, aren’t they? I suppose we fell for the ruse along with the whole galaxy, but you feel so much, don’t you? Don’t worry, Jaster’s on his way, you’ll see them soon.” 

Right on cue, Jas’lor walked in with steady strides. Seeing the state Obi-Wan was in, the man crouched down to be at eye level with him. “Everything’s set up for you, Obi-Wan,” he said softly, “all you have to do is input the frequency.” 

Obi-Wan sat up and wiped his eyes. He’d needed that cry, but that wasn’t the face he wanted to show his family. Not when they were already worried. He reached for the terminal and punched in the numbers to Master Qui’s comm frequency.

It rang once.

Then twice.

Then thrice.

Then- 

“This is Jinn?” 

Obi-Wan almost broke down again at the sound of his Master’s voice. So far, the call was only audio, but that could change.  **Would** change if his Master had anything to say about it.

“Hello, Master,” he said, a true smile on his face. There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“... Obi-Wan?” Master Qui sounded so small at that moment, so vulnerable. 

Obi-Wan nodded, then remembered his Master wouldn’t see it. “Yes, Master. I’m here.”

“Obi-Wan! Hang on, I will get the vid going-” he cut himself off, grumbling as he tried to find the button. In the background, Obi-Wan heard- he heard,

“Obi-Wan?”

“Obi?”

“It’s Kenobi!”

“Kriff, someone go get his brothers-”

“Get his crechemates, while you’re at it!”

“Obi-Wan!” And other exclamations of his name. Laughter bubbled up in his chest at the cacophony that was his family. Blue light expanded from the holotable to form a -frankly comical- picture. His Master was seated at his usual table in the Temple refectory but was squeezed in on all sides by other Jedi, the crowd getting thicker by the minute. The instant they saw him, the crowd of Jedi broke into cheers, clapping and chanting his name. It lit something warm inside Obi-Wan, just to interact with them again.

“Padawan,” Master Qui seemed at a loss for words, but pushed on, “how are you?” 

Obi-Wan giggled. If only Master Qui had seen him fifteen minutes past. “I’ll be alright, Master, it’s an adjustment, but-”

“BEN!”

“OBES!”

“OBI-WAN!”

“KENNY!”

“Shove off, I wanna see ‘im!”

“So do I, move your-”

“Padawan!”

“Butt, I was gonna say butt!” Obi-Wan’s crechemates had pushed themselves to the front of the crowd with their usual antics. Obi-Wan was laughing so hard his side was starting to hurt. It felt good to laugh.

“Oh! Garen! I almost forgot!” The boy in question looked at him through the comm. “You won the bet.” 

Denials and groans broke out among the Jedi while Garen’s voice went up an octave or two. “WHAT?! I took ‘under 24 hours’ because I  **never** win! I was trying to get that luck to rub off on you!” 

All together the Jedi, Obi-Wan included, put on their best ‘serene Jedi’ faces and intoned, “There is no luck, there is the Force.” All of them cracked up again. 

Obi-Wan smiled. 

“In all seriousness, I’m doing all right. I’ve been dealing with the jetlag well, the food’s good-” 

Quin scoffed. “You say food, I say biohazard…” 

Obi-Wan gasped dramatically. “How could you? I am betrayed! By my very own brother, no less! Oh, I am  **wounded** ! Wounded, I say!” Chuckles spattered throughout the Jedi.

“Yeah, yeah. Kenny, you better not fall behind while you’re away, you hear me?!” Bruck Chun was pointing at him sternly, but his eyes betrayed his worry. 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes good-naturedly. The two of them had a rocky start, with Bruck being somewhat of a late arrival, new to the Temple and their ways, while Obi-Wan had lived there his whole life. Bruck had quickly become jealous and lashed out, sparking an intense rivalry between the boys. Through time and many mind-healer sessions, the two of them had found their way to a middle ground. They would probably never be best friends, but their now-friendly rivalry only ever pushed them further.

“Don’t worry, Brucky-boy,” he responded to one nickname with another, “When I get back home, I’m  **wiping** the salle mats with you.” 

“Ooh”s and laughter bubbled across the call.

“Them’s fighting words, Kenobi!” 

Obi-Wan was about to respond but saw a growing disturbance among the Jedi. People shuffled to the side and looked down, chuckling. The reason for the disturbance became clear when two small hands could be seen waving at the bottom of the holo. Master Qui reached down and pulled a squirming three-year-old boy in his lap. 

The toddler saw Obi-Wan’s image and gasped, clapping his hands together. “Unca Obi! Unca Obi! I Saw you! I runned  **really** fast!” Obi-Wan’s nephew was bouncing on Master Qui’s legs, getting closer and closer to the comm. A frown crossed his small face, which was adorable. “Are you ok? Unca Kin said so. But Unca Kin’s stoo-pid.” The toddler elongated the first syllable of his last word, making Obi-Wan’s heart tighten. Oh, how he wished he could scoop up his nephew and hold him close. The next time we see each other in person, Obi-Wan thought, I’m not letting go for an hour. 

Obi-Wan laughed through Quin’s sputtered denials. “I’m alright, Benji, and don’t call your Uncle Quin that,” he grinned internally at the small “THANK you” he heard, “It’ll hurt his delicate feelings.” The Jedi crowd went off again with a loud “HEY” from the Padawan in question. 

Two Jedi pushed through the crowd, both humanoid, one blond, the other raven-haired. The blond Master scooped up Benji from Master Qui and held the boy close. “What have I told you about running off, huh?” he turned to the sitting Master and said, “sorry about that, Master.”

“Nonsense, Feemor, always a pleasure to have my grandson around. But he did have a reason to run off, this time.” Master Qui pointed to the comm, where Obi-Wan waved at his Padawan-brothers.

“Hello, Fee. Hello, Xani.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am picking and choosing what I want from canon and making up the rest as I go! So, to clarify:  
> This is not a Qui-Gon Bash fic. I wanted Obi-Wan to have a far kinder childhood than canon gave him, so I shook things up a little. Bruck got over his bullying stage because here, the Jedi believe in something called THERAPY. For the same reason, Xanatos got over (some, all the bad bits of) his haughtiness, dealt with the trauma from his dad, and never Fell. 
> 
> If you have any more questions, feel free to ask and I will do my best to answer them!


	18. Small Stones, Big Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaster sees a new side to the Jedi and Jango gets grounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I am REALLY sorry for the long wait on this, but I promise it's worth it! I have two new Betas now, the wonderful [Ehcanuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehcanuck/pseuds/ehcanuck) and [Timetoucheseternity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetoucheseternity/pseuds/timetoucheseternity)! They've helped me go over and edit the chapters already published, so there's some new stuff back there! (Some chapters are still being edited, but I figured over a month was a long enough wait) We also now have a more concrete outline of the direction this 'verse is going to take, so all aboard the Pain Train! Without further ado, let's get into it!

When the ik’aad popped up on the holo, Jaster gave up on everything he knew about Jetiise. He surreptitiously looked around at the Chieftains and guards who were “monitoring” the call. Most of them were lurking clearly just to get good gossip and the Jetii were unknowingly providing  **plenty** . One Jetii scooped the ik’aad up (their buir? But Jedi didn’t have families, everyone knew that), and started talking to Obi-Wan animatedly. 

Jaster moved his eyes away from his people and instead took the time to watch Obi-Wan as he talked to the Jetiise. The boy’s eyes lit up, his posture straightened and relaxed at the same time, his face smoothed from worries… it was jarring to see the dissonance between Obi-Wan now and the Obi-Wan from thirty minutes ago. Even more so compared to the Obi-Wan from this morning. Was being here truly so awful for the ad?

Mentally shaking himself away from that gloomy thought, he instead focused on the recipients of the holo. From what Jaster could gather, the Jet’ikase who had pushed their way to the front were Obi-Wan’s age-mates or the Jetiise he had been raised with. The two adult Jetiise, Obi-Wan had called them Fee and Xani, were his vode? They were both older than him by a fair margin, the black-hared one by at least a decade, the other by at least two - maybe even three. 

Jaster tuned back into the conversation in time to hear the older of the two say, “Obi, I heard it was your idea to give the Mandalorians their stuff back?”  _ Stuff? _ Jaster’s mind glitched at the word. Did he just refer to their ancient beskar’gam, the second skins worn by their forebears as  **stuff?** Lord Dral, incensed, sputtered out the word a few times in disbelief while others around the room mouthed the word with varying degrees of incredulity. The Jetii (Fee?) snorted, noting their reactions and addressed the room at large. “You didn’t think it was all armour, did you? Armour makes up a good chunk of it, but we have weapons, sculptures, some paintings - most forms of art, really - some children’s toys made of beskar, tablets carved in an archaic version of Mando’a, and a few sets of armour made from animal bones - which animal, we’re not quite sure. Cataloguing everything and readying it for transport will be a huge undertaking-”

“Mythosaur bones,” said Obi-Wan. Every head in the room turned to him. His eyes were unfocused, staring into a distance no one else could see. “Those sets of armour were carved out of mythosaur bones.” He blinked a few times and shook his head as if to clear it. “That was… odd,” he said with a small frown. “That didn’t  _ feel _ like the Force, or at least not  **just** the Force, there was something else…” he trailed off, but quickly turned back to the hologram. “A mystery to figure out later, not while I have all of you on comm… Oh, Quin, Siri, before I forget,” he put his chin in his hand, eyes shining with mischief, “How is your divorce going?” 

Again, the Jetiise exploded into an uproar, two voices screaming, “THAT WAS YOU?!” A pair of teens Obi-Wan’s age pushed themselves to be front and centre of the comm while Obi-Wan threw his head back into a roaring laugh. It was the sort of laughter that was infectious and many of the Mando’ade in the room quickly joined in either from the reactions of the Jedi or just for the sake of laughing.

“And what if it was me?” Obi-Wan said between chuckles, clearly amused at his own cleverness. “Whatever will you do about it now? Here I am, on the other side of the galaxy, safe from your shenanigans, while you must go through couples therapy. Word of advice, Quin: you should have stopped bragging about getting to eighteen without a  **single** accidental wedding under your belt. Siri, this was convenient retribution, nothing personal.” 

The girl in question puffed up, affronted, “Nothing personal? I have on record that I was once married to  **this mother** -”

“PADAWAN…”

“Motherlover, Master. I was going to say motherlover!” 

While watching the banter unfold, Jaster heard the soft chime in his buy’ce alerting him of Jango’s return and walked over to Obi-Wan, putting a hand on his shoulder in reassurance as he quietly said, “I’ll be back soon, Obi-Wan.” 

The boy nodded and Jaster walked out into the hall, towards their private landing pad. Before he could step through the doors, Jango burst through them while pulling off his helmet, chest heaving. “Is Obi-Wan alright?” he asked breathlessly.

Jaster raised an eyebrow and said nothing while crossing his arms across his chest in his patented buir-is-disappointed look. His ad had some nerve, to act concerned now after putting Obi-Wan in danger. “He was doing better when I left him a few moments ago, he’s on a call with the Jetiise and, quite frankly, the happiest I’ve ever seen him.” He held out a hand to stop Jango from running off to find the other teen. “He’s doing exceptionally well considering he came the Palace in  **tears** ! Jango T’adad Fett, what were you thinking?” 

Jango’s face fell even more. “I was thinking that I needed a second opinion, Buir. That I was too close to the issue to look at it rationally! So, I followed the advice you always give me: to get someone else to help me see it clearly. I was thinking that I could trust my vode - and they swore to never tell, haat, ijaa, haa’it! We talked it out a bit, they helped me get over myself, but someone must have heard us, Buir. Ni ceta, I didn’t mean to, I swear.” The boy was working himself up, his face darkening with emotion. 

“We’ve got to work on your opsec skills ad.” Jaster sighed, exasperation in his tone. “And I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” Jango bowed his head again and pulled off his jetpack which Jaster then took gently from his hands. “I need to go back to Obi-Wan, but I think he still needs space from you right now. Go to your room and get started on your error sheet. You remember the drill?” 

“Lek, Buir. What I did wrong, why it hurt Obi-Wan, what I should have done better, and how I’m going to apologize and make it up to Obi-Wan.” Jango dutifully listed off his tasks, a common exercise to make ade understand their errors and help them work through solving them. It was also a convenient way to identify subtle triggers that set off verde before they became a problem in the field

“Ori’jate, Jan’ika,” Jaster said, pulling Jango into a Keldabe, “I’ll be holding onto this,” he lifted Jango’s jetpack, “until you’ve earned it back.” He then looked at the stairs pointedly; Jango took the hint and walked dejectedly towards them.

Jaster sighed.  _ That boy had good intentions, but Ka’ra preserve him, he had a long way to go. This was not the worst situation to learn that walls have ears, but it was certainly not a harmless one.  _ He walked back into the hall to find his councillors tense and Obi-Wan curled back in on himself.

“-alright?” Jaster only heard the final word of Obi-Wan’s question. The brown-haired Jetii with a beard, the one Obi-Wan called Master Qui-Gon, sighed heavily.

“He’s not doing too well. As we thought, your mission caused a setback, but it wasn’t so bad until yesterday.” The Jetiise were less rowdy, their shoulders more hunched, their heads lowered. Clearly, the discussion had moved to more serious waters.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed in concern. “Still no sign of them?” 

Master Qui-Gon shook his head. “They’ve been moved to the SoM roster, but we don’t know if they’re alive-”

“They still live,” said a voice that was both familiar and not, “my bonds with them are still intact, although they are clouded.” An older Jetii made his way to the comm in their end. Jaster blinked a few times, trying to place the familiar face, then had to force himself to keep still. That face, that same face that stared him down across a field of snow was now gaunt, the eyes and cheeks sunken. The hair was greying, though still as thick as three years prior. The biggest difference was in the voice. The once-booming voice that had ordered their total surrender, then their deaths, was soft, barely more than a whisper. Still.

“I am glad to see you well, Grandpadawan.”

“And I, you, Grandmaster.”

Dooku was unmistakable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this 'verse, Mandos aren't named until their first birthday or thereabouts, so that they have the time to gain a name that suits them. Until then, they're referred to as "firstchild" or in Jango's case, "T'adad". When Mandos get their names, their baby name becomes their middle name. If a Buir yells it, you're grounded, no questions asked!
> 
> Mando'a:  
> Ik'aad = baby under the age of three  
> Jet'ikase = plural of "little Jedi"  
> T'adad = Second child/child number two  
> Ori'jate = very good

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/i-am-ct-5555), any questions, comments or suggestions are welcome!!


End file.
